


Burn Your Life Down (but look back to me)

by triggerlil



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: (not between Harry and Draco), Alcohol, Alternate Universe - World War II, Beauxbatons Student Draco Malfoy, Club owner harry potter, Eventual Happy Ending, Film Noir, Hurt/Comfort, Infidelity, LCDrarry, M/M, Magically Powerful Harry Potter, No Horcruxes, On the Run, Pining, Self-Medication, Smoking, inspired by Casablanca, mention of slavery and human trafficking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-15
Updated: 2020-06-15
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:42:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 35,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24216832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/triggerlil/pseuds/triggerlil
Summary: It's been years since destiny walked into an apartment on Rue Azais, and Harry is over it. Really, he is. He has Blaise, he has his work, and if necessary, he still has his memories. But with the onset of WWII, the foundations of his life are crumbling, and suddenly a certain blond man is walking back into his life, asking Harry to make important, and dangerous, choices.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy & Blaise Zabini, Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Harry Potter & Blaise Zabini, Harry Potter & Romilda Vane, Viktor Krum/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 22
Kudos: 48
Collections: Lights Camera Drarry 2020





	1. ACT 1

**Author's Note:**

> Edit: Now that reveals have happened, I recommend listening to the Spotify playlist I made to go with it. It's largely instrumental, but will give you an even better sense of the atmosphere! [here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0xzgtkZGFKpn78KoHrNxZr?si=QEfpnK7RSXGtz_95g6E1uw)
> 
> Important: In screenplays, int. means interior, so int. house means the following scene is going to happen somewhere inside the house. Ext. means exterior, so ext. school is outside the school, but near enough that in a movie it would be in the shot. 
> 
> This was my first fest fic, and was such a wonder to write. Casablanca has always been an important movie to me, and it was wonderful to combine my love of film and drarry together. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it.
> 
> A huge thank you to B, for getting the ball rolling when I didn't know how to start, P, who despite not knowing anything about Casablanca was able to not only help, but become a friend, K, who put up with my heinous Viktor accent and is just lovely, and R, beta and friend extraordinaire.
> 
> Lastly, to BR, both alpha, beta, and good friend, I couldn't have done this without you.

Our story starts in Casablanca, the largest city in Morocco, during the Second World War. 

If you found it on a globe, your finger would be positioned somewhere between Algeria, the Western Sahara, Spain, and the Atlantic Ocean. Yet the relevance of Casablanca runs deeper than the self-hatred of Muggles, so narcissistic that they fight wars on unparalleled scales. It first cements itself in history with the rise of the Berber Barghawata kingdom in the mid-8th-century. Later, in the 15th-century, it became known as a safe harbour for pirates. In 1755, the town was largely destroyed by an earthquake. It was rebuilt by Sultan Mohammed ben Abdallah (a formidable wizard) and was colonised in the 20th century by the French. Now, it is a strategic port during WWII and a haven to wizards and Muggles alike.

The magic that flows through Casablanca’s veins, that bled into the pirates, throwing curses instead of clashing swords, and now, the world ravaged by war, has nearly seeped into every seedy, venous area. 

Muggle wars stoke fires and leave cavernous spaces, big gaping wounds, places that dark magic licks at with wisps and whispers, clogging arteries with deceit. 

Large swaths of the world have been brought under the Axis power of Germany, Italy, and Japan. With them come the Dark Wizards, bringers of death, black cloaks, and skullduggery masks. They whisper into the ears of higher ups, storm the battle fields looking for blood, they take, and take, and take.

This is how our story starts. Not with Draco Malfoy. Not with Harry Potter. 

With the onset of a war, the heat of Morocco, and something wicked that this way comes, over France, through Spain, to settle in the heart of Casablanca. 

FADE IN: 

##### INT. BUREAU DES AURORS – DAY 

A young Auror in grey robes puts his wand to his mouth, pulls out a piece of parchment, and reads. 

YOUNG AUROR

To all Aurors, two German couriers carrying important official muggle documentation and wizarding amulet were murdered on a train from Oran. Murderer and possible accomplices headed for Casablanca. Round up all suspicious characters and search them for stolen documents.

##### EXT. A STREET IN THE OLD MOORISH SECTION – DAY 

An officer blows his whistle several times, and pandemonium ensues as a local guard begins to round up people. Two Aurors watch from the sidelines, until someone glimmering with a Notice-me-not charm walks through the square, and then they are in pursuit. 

They stop the suspect at a street corner, the wix caught by surprise that anyone would see through it. The Aurors are enveloped into the charm, all Muggles suddenly walking past them as if they weren’t there. 

FIRST AUROR

May you bring out your wand?

WIX

(nervously)

I don’t think I have it on me.

FIRST AUROR

I find that unlikely, but in that case, we’ll have to ask you to come along.

The wix pats their pocket, as if they’ve just remembered something. 

WIX

Wait. It’s just possible that I… Yes, here it is.

They bring out their wand. It’s simple, unassuming. The second Auror pulls out their own sleek, black wand, and brings it to the tip of the wix’s. A thread of magic begins to siphon out of the wix’s wand, winding down the Auror’s and curling over his hand in an unreadable mixture of symbols only the caster can understand. 

SECOND AUROR

Your status expired three weeks ago. You’ll have to come along.

Suddenly, the wix breaks away, throwing a Flipendo over their shoulder as they run wildly down the street. The first Auror runs after them, and a crack rings through the air, the wix falling to the ground. The second Auror quickly puts his wand away. This is not an unusual scene to the crowded Muggles, the Aurors’ robes glamoured to look like police uniforms, they’ll believe the wix was simply gunned down in the street. 

The first Auror frantically searches the Stunned body but finds only contemporary wizarding literature. The wix’s eyes are blank and lifeless, the shock of such a forceful spell evidently too much for them to handle. One Auror shields the other as they wrap an invisibility cloak around the body, levitating it above the crowd.

##### EXT. PALAIS DE JUSTICE/BUREAU DE LA JUSTICE MAGIQUE – DAY

The Palais de Justice is a white, cubic building, mixed with gold and teal accents, arched windows lining the flanks. We see an inscription carved in a marble block along the roofline of the building: “Liberté, Égalité, Fraternité.” 

At the front entrance the arrested suspects are led in by the police. The two Aurors walk around the side of the building, disappearing through a shimmering veil. 

##### EXT. SIDEWALK CAFÉ – DAY

A middle-aged English couple sit at a table just off the square, observing the commotion across the way in front of the Palais de Justice, a glamoured _Cahier du Chimaera_ held limply in the witch’s hands, its bright yellow cover contrasting with her lilac dress. 

A European man, sitting at a table nearby, watches the English couple more closely than the scene on the street, wiping the back of his neck with a handkerchief. 

ENGLISH WITCH

What on earth’s going on here?

ENGLISH WIZARD

I don’t know, my dear.

The European walks over to the couple. 

EUROPEAN

Pardon, pardon, Monsieur, pardon. I see your copy of _Cahier du Chimaera_ , have you not heard?

They take this as a sign that he is also a wizard, to have seen through their glamour. It is one of the easiest ways of keeping the wizarding world alive in the heart of a muggle city. 

ENGLISH WITCH

We hear very little, and not everyone is so gracious with their translating charms.

EUROPEAN

Two German couriers, wizards, were found murdered in the desert… the unoccupied desert… with a Killing Curse. This is the customary roundup of refugees, liberals, and uh, of course, any suspicious magicals. 

The European witch begins flipping through her magazine, the face of a young witch with a black bob laying across a green settee looking up at her. She’s covered in silver jewels, lifting them up over and over, bathing in their shine. White block letters are written underneath the magazine title, the tag-line flashes between different languages; _dans quel monde entrons-nous?_ ما العالم الذي ينتظرنا ؟ _Welche Welt erwartet uns?_ _What world is waiting for us?_

EUROPEAN

Unfortunately, along with these unhappy refugees the scum of Europe has gravitated to Casablanca. Some of them have been waiting years for a visa.

He puts his left arm around the wizard compassionately, reaching behind the man with his right hand.

EUROPEAN

I beg of you, monsieur, watch yourself. Be on guard. This place is full of vultures, vultures everywhere.

The English wizard seems to be taken aback by this sudden display of concern, all while the European is slipping his hand into the wizard’s pocket, pulling out a small orange amulet, quickly shifting it to his own pin-striped suit. 

ENGLISH WIZARD

Thank you, thank you very much.

EUROPEAN

Not at all. Au revoir, Monsieur. Au revoir, Madame.

He inclines his head towards her, which she barely acknowledges. They are from two different worlds, in the end. The English wizard watches the European leave, still left off-put by the whole encounter. Imagine not being raised to be suspicious, to immediately spell your galleons with anti-theft charms, imagine being raised with galleons at all. _Deux mondes différents_ , indeed. 

##### INT. BUREAU DES AURORS – DAY 

There is a whooshing sound and where there was open air, a man whirls into view, clutching a deep red amulet on a silver chain. As he tucks it in his breast pocket, a deformed skull and swastika are visibly engrained into the red stone. Major Strasser, a tall, pale man with a pencil mustache, was recently appointed Oberster Zauberer (Supreme Mugwump) in the German wizarding ministry, and is a dedicated member of the Third Reich. 

Waiting for him in the office, standing at attention, is Captain Romilda Vane, a French officer and Prefect of Police in Casablanca. She is prepossessing, debonair, and playful, but underneath her eyes are shrewd, her posture alert and official. With her are Herr Heinze, consul for both the Muggle and wizarding factions of the German government, and Lieutenant McLaggen, Vane’s aide. 

Heinze steps forward first, raising a stout black wand. Strasser does the same, his wand sleek and pale. Instead of shaking hands, they bring the tips of their wands together. 

HEINZE

Morasti.

STRASSER

Morasti.

A cloud of green dust rising from their wands, forming itself into a skull, swastika stamped to its forehead. This is the nature of their greeting; _morasti_ , a spell formed of Latin and Sanskrit, one part being death, _mor,_ the other, _asti_ , meaning “being,” an ugly deformation of the Sanskrit svasti, “well-being,” which is the etymology of the swastika. A symbol which signified divinity and hope, before it was marred by the travesty of death and ugliness of hatred.

When the skull has dissipated, the two men sheathe their wands. Serious expressions are pocketed, and they shake hands. 

HEINZE

It is very good to see you again, Major Strasser.

STRASSER

Thank you, thank you. 

HEINZE 

May I present Captain Romilda Vane, Police Prefect of Casablanca. 

Vane salutes and sticks out her hand. 

VANE

Unoccupied France welcomes you to Casablanca, Major Strasser.

Strasser smiles, but doesn’t shake it, simply eying her coldly.

STRASSER

Thank you, Captain. It’s very good to be here.

Her smile falters, but she takes it in stride. Pulling forward her lieutenant. 

VANE 

Major Strasser, my aide, Lieutenant Cormac McLaggen. 

STRASSER 

A pleasure. And the murder of the couriers, what has been done? 

MCLAGGEN

I’ve been searching and arresting suspects, Major. 

VANE 

So modest, he killed one just this morning. 

Her smile falters once more, as Strasser looks at her with disgust, Heinze pulling nervously on his collar. 

VANE

Realizing the importance of the case, my Aurors are rounding up twice the usual number of suspects… Major, sir. 

HEINZE

(jumping in nervously)

We already know who the murderer is.

STRASSER

Good. Is he in custody?

VANE

Oh, there’s no hurry. Tonight he’ll be at Harry’s. Everybody comes to Harry’s.

STRASSER

I have already heard about this bar and café, and also about Mr. Potter himself.

Vane smiles and claps her hands contentedly. 

VANE 

Ah, then why wait. Let us pay Harry a visit. 

##### EXT. HARRY’S CAFÉ – NIGHT 

A sign above the nightclub doors glows white, letters that have been spelled to look like a neon sign:

HARRY’S CAFÉ SORCIERE. 

Wizards, witches, and wixes alike arrive and walk through the large double doors out front, their outfits ranging from formal robes to flowing dresses and sharp suits. From inside there is the sound of music, laughter, and something akin to magic. 

##### INT. HARRY’S CAFÉ – NIGHT

Inside there is an air of sophistication paired with magical realism. Trays of drinks hover among the guests, delivering flutes of champagne and sparkling shots. 

Blaise sits on a stool before a small, yet classy, piano on wheels. He's a tall, British black man with defined features, and in his early twenties. He's playing and singing something jaunty, accompanied by the orchestra. 

All about there is the hum of voices, music, and laughter. 

The occupants in the room are diverse, people of all nationalities mingle, and the drinks leaving the bar are even more varied. An Egyptian wizard in yellow and orange formal robes drinks from a flaming glass, fire engulfing his face every time he brings it to his lips, yet he never comes away burned. A Moroccan witch at the bar in a bronze gown is drinking a classic effervescent Diablo, the sparkling drink matching the gold dusting of blush on her dark cheeks. At tables, off-duty French Aurors sip on champagne cocktails, dutifully named French 75s, while their German counterparts drink Moscow mules. On the dance floor, an English couple sway in plain black robes, a muggle cigarette hanging idly from one of their hands, the other smoking something purple and hazy. 

At a table, a well-dressed witch in a lacey black dress and dark robes clutches her pointed hat nervously in her hands, talking to a Moroccan wizard. Despite her lavish outfit, she wears no jewelry but a simple silver bracelet. 

WITCH

But can’t you please make it just a little more? Please?

WIZARD

I’m sorry, Madame, but everybody sells diamonds. There are diamonds everywhere. Five hundred and twelve bezants.

WITCH

All right… All right. How much is that in, uhm.

WIZARD

In your currency? Four hundred and ninety-eight galleons, sixteen sickles, and twenty-two knuts.

She takes out a pouch and waves her wand, the money filling up the bag from her bank in Gringotts. The wizard takes the money and begins counting meticulously. She watches dejectedly, nervously twirling the bracelet on her wrist. 

Only once does the man look up. Sympathy is evidently in short supply in Casablanca. 

WIZARD

Make it a two-way mirror or a vial of unicorn hair, then we might talk.

At the bar, Sacha, a friendly Russian wizard with loose brown curls, waves his wand as bottles levitate around him, pouring and mixing drinks. A fire roars up from a shot glass, and he hands it to a wix as if it were nothing. Fyreater liquor is all the rage in the wizarding world right now. 

Carl, the head waiter, is a fat, jovial German refugee with spectacles. He walks, tray levitating in front of him, to a private door, over which Abdul, a large, burly man, stands guard. He smiles at Carl, opening the door with a wave of his wand. 

##### INT. HARRY’S CAFÉ – GAMBLING ROOM – NIGHT 

There is much activity at the various tables. At one, two witches and a wizard play a variation of a muggle card game, but the deck keeps flying into the air. When they spot Carl, one of the witches calls over to him. 

FIRST WITCH

Uh, waiter?

CARL

Yes, Mademoiselle?

FIRST WITCH

Will you ask Harry if he’ll have a drink with us?

CARL

Madame, he never drinks with customers. Never. I have never seen him.

WIZARD 

(disappointedly)

What makes saloon-keepers so snobbish?

SECOND WITCH

Perhaps if you tell him I’m Pansy Parkinson? I was on the last cover of _Cahiers du Chimeara_.

Indeed, she has the same black bob from the magazine, but her poignant gaze has been replaced by a snide look of disdain, white fur pooled around her elbows, silky dark green dress clinging to her figure. 

CARL

_Cahiers du Chimaera_? Harry won’t care about that. His face is plastered all over Britain.

WIZARD

On wanted posters.

CARL

Still better publicity. 

Carl laughs, floating the trays out of the room, winking at Harry on his way out. We now see Harry, sitting at a table alone playing solitary chess. He has unruly black hair, vibrant green eyes, tanned skin, and a white scar that forks over his face and down across his right eye. He’s wearing a white tux with black trousers, a little black bow tied at his neck. It contrasts well with his eyes and scar and he looks relaxed yet formidable, sitting there with an almost bored expression. 

A witch slides into the spot in front of him, moving the black rook forward and knocking over one of Harry’s pawns. He watches it fall over, and then looks up to see Pansy Parkinson.

PANSY

I’m disappointed you declined my drink, Harry.

HARRY

You know I don’t drink with customers.

PANSY

Am I not more than a customer?

Harry grins slightly at this, but covers it up by moving a chess piece forward, taking back one of Pansy’s pawns.

HARRY

I’ve never slept with you, so no.

Pansy seems taken aback by the forwardness, but then laughs, a high-pitched cackle, fitting for a witch. 

PANSY

You know, I like you Harry.

HARRY

Funny, I don’t like you.

PANSY

(pouting)

That’s mean.

HARRY

Look, are you going to play chess or not?

Pansy sniffs, picks up her queen, and slams it down on the other side of the board, a boldly illegal move. She stands up, the chess pieces wobbling, and walks back over to her friends. Harry watches the sway in her hips, and then is distracted by a commotion at the door as people attempt to come into the gambling room. 

He scans them over and nods his approval to Abdul. But then a German officer appears in the doorway, and Abdul looks to Harry once more, and he shakes his head. Abdul begins to close the door on the wizard. 

ABDUL

I’m sorry Sir, this is a private room.

GERMAN

Of all the nerve! Who do you think… I know there’s gambling in there! There’s no secret. You dare not keep me out of here!

The man tries to push his way through the door as Harry walks up.

HARRY

(coldly)

What’s the trouble?

ABDUL

This gentleman—

The wizard interrupts and waves his card.

GERMAN

I’ve been in every gambling room between Honolulu and Berlin and if you think I’m going to be kept out of a saloon like this, you’re very much mistaken.

At that moment Ugarte, a small, thin man with a nervous air, who looks rather like an adorable frog, tries to squeeze through the doorway blocked by the German. He’s wearing brown robes over a beige suit, long sleeves covering up his hands. Abdul, while blocking the German, moves over just enough and Ugarte slips through. 

UGARTE

Uh, excuse me, please. Hullo, Harry.

HARRY

(softly)

Hello Ugarte.

Harry looks at the German calmly, takes the card out of his hand, and vanishes it, leaving the wizard spluttering. Ugarte chuckles quietly, and sits down at the chess table. 

HARRY

Your cash is good at the bar.

GERMAN

What! Do you know who I am?

HARRY

I do. You’re lucky the bar’s open to you.

GERMAN

This is outrageous. I shall report it to the Angriff!

The German storms off, and Harry claps Abdul on the back, thanking him. He meets Ugarte back at his table, sitting down tiredly. 

UGARTE

(fawning)

Huh. You know, Harry, watching you just now with the employee of Deutsche Bank, one would think you’d been doing this all your life.

HARRY

Well, what makes you think I haven’t?

UGARTE

(vaguely)

Oh, nothing. But when you first came to Casablanca, I thought—

HARRY

(stiffening)

What? 

Ugarte laughs good naturedly, waving his hands, his large sleeves slipping. 

UGARTE

Just that you didn’t seem like the type. You were too soft and hard in the wrong places.

HARRY

I have no idea what that’s supposed to mean. 

UGARTE

Oh, it doesn’t really matter. Too bad about those two German couriers, wasn’t it?

HARRY

They got a lucky break. Yesterday they were just two German clerks. Today they’re the “honoured dead.”

Ugarte pauses for a moment to puzzle at the board, obviously wondering what happened to it, and then moves one of his pieces. When Ugarte looks up, he meets Harry’s eyes. 

UGARTE 

You are a very cynical person, under all that charm, Harry, if you’ll forgive me for saying so.

HARRY

(shortly)

I forgive you.

A tray floats towards their table, and a waiter places a drink in front of Ugarte. A gin and tonic, just his usual. 

UGARTE

Thank you.

(to Harry)

Will you have a drink with me please?

HARRY

Not tonight. 

UGARTE

Maybe another time. 

HARRY

Maybe. 

UGARTE

(to Harry, sadly)

You despise me, don’t you?

HARRY

If I gave you any more thought, I probably would. 

UGARTE

I don’t understand you, first you come to Casablanca, you’re hard but also broken, soft inside.

(he talks with his hands, flopping his sleeves around) 

Now you’re hot and cold, I can’t tell if you love me or hate me!

HARRY

I thought we just went over this, it’s the latter. You don’t know me well enough to talk to me like this.

UGARTE

Apparently not! But why do you hate me? Because you found out the business I do? Think of all those poor refugees who would rot in this place if I didn’t help them. That’s not so bad. Through ways of my own I provide them with exit visas.

HARRY

For a price, Ugarte, for a price. 

UGARTE

But what about people who can’t meet Vane’s price. I get it for them for half. Is that so parasitic?

HARRY

I don’t mind a parasite. I object to a cut-rate one.

UGARTE

Well, Harry, after tonight I’ll be through with this whole business, and I’m finally leaving Casablanca.

(as an afterthought)

And you.

HARRY

Who did you bribe for your visa? Vane or yourself?

UGARTE

(ironically)

Myself. I found myself to be much more reasonable.

He takes a small box from his pocket, and places it on the table. 

UGARTE

Look, Harry, do you know what this is? Something that even you have not seen. Not only are there letters of transit signed by General de Gaulle, but an amulet of passage created by the National Wizarding Union. Cannot be rescinded, not even questioned, will pass you through any wards on the borders, and let you use Portkeys to any destination.

Harry reaches for it, but Ugarte puts a hand out. His sleeve brushes Harry’s skin, but he doesn’t dare make contact. 

UGARTE

One moment. Tonight, I’ll be selling those for more money than even I have ever dreamed of, and then, adios Casablanca! You know, Harry, I have many friends in Casablanca, but somehow, just because you despise me, you’re the only one I trust. Will you keep these for me? Please.

HARRY

For how long?

UGARTE

Perhaps an hour, perhaps a little longer.

HARRY

I don’t want them here overnight.

UGARTE

Don’t be afraid of that. Please keep them for me. 

Harry takes the box reluctantly, pushing down the urge to open it. 

UGARTE

Thank you. I knew I could trust you.

He stands up and makes to leave the table, flagging down a waiter. 

UGARTE

Oh, waiter. I’ll be expecting some people. If anybody asks for me, I’ll be right there.

WAITER

Yes, Monsieur.

The waiter leaves and Ugarte turns to Harry, an impish look on his face.

UGARTE

Harry, I hope you are more impressed with me now, huh? If you’ll forgive me, I’ll share my good luck with your roulette wheel.

He starts across the floor.

HARRY

Just a moment.

Ugarte stops as Harry comes up to him, stepping close.

HARRY

Yeah, I heard the rumour that those German couriers were carrying letters of transit, and that they weren’t just German couriers, but established pureblood wizards, carrying an amulet.

Ugarte hesitates for a moment.

UGARTE

I heard those rumours, too. Poor devils.

Harry looks at Ugarte steadily.

HARRY

(slowly)

Yes, you’re right, Ugarte. I am a little more impressed with you.

Harry leaves the gambling room and goes into the main room, leaving Ugarte to smile after him stupidly. 

##### INT. HARRY’S CAFÉ – MAIN ROOM – NIGHT 

Harry makes his way over to Blaise, whose sultry voice is filling the room, accompanied by the orchestra. The café is in semi-darkness. The spotlight is on Blaise, but occasionally swings back to the orchestra for the reprise. 

During one of the periods when the spotlight is on the orchestra, Harry slips the letters into his pocket, and pulls the amulet out of the parcel. He holds it in his hand for a moment, then slowly lowers it into the piano, where it hovers above the mechanics, a tiny burst of magic inside a muggle machine. 

When the spotlight swings back, Harry waves to everyone nonchalantly. 

Burke, owner of the Golden Niffler, a competing night spot, comes into the café, sits down, and watches Blaise. He’s short and wrinkled, with a nasty personality, yet somehow the Niffler manages to remain in business. Perhaps it’s the copious amounts of false charm oozing from his pores.

Then he sees Harry and smiles, two gold teeth flashing, and Harry grimaces in return. At the end of the number, Burke walks up to the bar to speak to Harry. He’s wearing a deep plum suit that makes him look even more pallid than normal, and a golden wristwatch. 

BURKE

Hello, Harry.

HARRY

Hello, Burke. How’s business at the Golden Niffler? 

BURKE

Oh it’s good, but I would like to buy your café. 

He twists the golden stud in one ear, flashing another bespoke grin. 

HARRY

It’s not for sale.

BURKE

You haven’t heard my offer.

HARRY

It’s not for sale at any price.

BURKE

What do you want for Blaise?

HARRY

(angrily)

I don’t buy or sell human beings.

BURKE

That’s too bad. That’s Casablanca’s leading commodity. In refugees alone we could make a fortune if you would work with me through the black market.

HARRY

Suppose you cut the talk of slavery before I hex your balls off. 

BURKE

Suppose we ask Blaise. Maybe he’d like a good old fashioned change.

HARRY

Suppose we do.

BURKE

My dear Harry, when will you realize that in this world today isolationism is no longer a practical policy?

HARRY

Call me dear one more time and it will be the last thing you do. 

They walk over to the piano, the only comfort to Harry being that Burke has finally crossed the line. He’s already picturing warding the place against him, and how gratifying it would be to see him bounce off and hit the ground. 

HARRY

Blaise, Burke wants you to work for him at the Golden Niffler.

BLAISE

(icily)

I like it fine here.

HARRY

He’ll double what I pay you.

BLAISE

Well, too bad I don’t even have time to spend the money I make here.

HARRY

(turning to Burke)

Sorry mate. 

Burke just shrugs, pulling out a golden bezant and placing it on the top of the piano. 

BURKE

For your troubles.

Blaise looks at the coin for a moment, and then reaches up, brushing it off the piano. 

BLAISE

Thanks, but I don’t take tips from bigots.

Harry claps, pushing Burke towards the door.

HARRY

Sorry mate, but I don’t think you should come here again.

BURKE

Well, _mate,_ you’re always welcome at the Niffler.

Harry glowers, fuming at the piano. Blaise plays on, talking at the same time. 

BLAISE

Don’t worry about it Harry, Burke is the least of my troubles.

HARRY

He’s a slimy git. You should take a break.

Blaise smiles, motioning to a Latina woman, Corina, who had been sitting alone at a table. She nods, walking over, and Blaise gets up, nudging Harry’s shoulder lightly. 

BLAISE

In this case, I agree with you on both fronts.

Harry watches Blaise walk away, and is distracted by the dance floor. A wizard with blond hair is swaying with a partner, and Harry is lost in watching the way he holds the witch in front of him, until the wizard turns, and the spell is broken. Because it’s not him. It never is. 

Blaise having disappeared, Harry rubs his face tiredly, and sighs. 

Back at the bar, Yvonne, an attractive young French woman, sits on a stool drinking brandy.

Sacha, who looks at her with lovesick eyes, flicks his wand and refills her tumbler. 

SACHA

The boss’s private stock. Because, Yvonne, I love you.

YVONNE

(morosely)

Oh, shut up.

SACHA

(fondly)

All right, all right. For you, Yvonne, I shut up, because, Yvonne, I love you.

Harry walks over and takes a stool a little ways away from Yvonne. He tries to ignore her, because he doesn’t need any more blonds in his life right now, just a drink, a strong drink. She looks at him bitterly, without saying a word.

SACHA

Oh, Monsieur Harry, Monsieur Harry. Some Germans, boom, boom, boom, boom, give this check. Is it all right?

Harry looks the check over and tears it up. Yvonne’s eyes are piercing, she hasn’t taken them off him. 

YVONNE

Where were you last night?

HARRY

That’s so long ago, I don’t remember.

YVONNE

Will I see you tonight?

HARRY

(matter-of-factly)

I never make plans that far ahead.

Yvonne turns, looks at Sacha, and extends her glass to him.

YVONNE

(slurred)

Give me another. 

HARRY

I might have to cut you off.

YVONNE

Don’t listen to him, Sacha. Fill it up.

SACHA

Yvonne, I love you, but he pays me.

Yvonne wheels on Harry with drunken fury, her sparkling scarf whipping around. 

YVONNE

Harry, I’m sick and tired of having you—

HARRY

—Sacha, call her a cab.

Yvonne blanches at him, slamming down her tumbler.

YVONNE

I don’t need you telling me when I’ve had enough, Harry. I’ll leave quite willingly, thank you.

She stands up, pinning back her long blond hair, and Harry watches her with a strange glint in his eyes, one that’s almost melancholic. He’s used to the angry remarks after cutting people off, but Yvonne’s stings a bit more acutely. 

YVONNE

What a fool I was to fall for a man like you.

SACHA

I can take you home, Yvonne, make sure you don’t get hurt.

Yvonne turns a pitying smile to the man behind the bar, brushing her hand under his chin.

YVONNE

No thank you, Sacha, I’m afraid if you took me home, you’d never leave.

She picks up her purse from the table and with one last searing glare at Harry, sways away from the bar, picking up her flashy coat, and storms through the doors. 

Harry follows, and walks out of the café just in time to see her get into a cab. He pulls out a cigarette. Yvonne is terrible to deal with, but he wants her to get home safe, regardless. 

Harry stands and looks up at the revolving beacon of light from the airport. It intermittently illuminates his face, and he runs a hand through his hair, feeling the lines of his scar under his fingers, knowing how it must look as the light undercuts every ridge and groove of his features. It’s funny, being so close to so much muggle, that his café stays hidden amongst it all. That a pocket of magic, filled with wizardkind, runs deep and strong through Casablanca. Funny, that. 

Finally, he notices Blaise, sitting at one of the outdoor tables, a cocktail in hand, something glittering with spell work. Harry takes a long drag before walking over. Most wizards in Britain don’t smoke, thinking it a poor muggle habit, something to take a few years off your lifespan. Harry got into it when he also had the habit of hanging out in muggle pubs, places where nothing was expected of him. 

Everyone smokes in Casablanca. People here dream of their lives being short, but pleasurable. 

HARRY

Is that your own invention?

BLAISE

For a man who owns a bar, Harry, you’re incredibly dense about the world of drinking.

Harry sits down next to him heavily, raising his eyebrows at Blaise’s tone. 

BLAISE

Bloody hell Harry, it’s a New Orleans Fizz, and Sacha doesn’t know a lick about making them. I mean, where do you even get your fleurs d'oranger? Because I can guarantee you, it’s not the right place.

HARRY

(sarcastically)

I’ll make sure to file your complaint to the manager.

Blaise smirks at that, taking a longer sip from his drink. For a man who’s so fussy about it, he seems to be enjoying it well enough. Stars twinkle above them, and they both look up as a plane takes off from the adjacent airfield, flying directly over their heads, white streaks against the night sky.

BLAISE

The plane to Lisbon.

(heavy pause) 

You want to be on it, don’t you?

HARRY

Why would I want to be in Lisbon. 

BLAISE 

All the advanced international Portkeys. The Portkeys to Britain. 

Blaise eyes Harry shrewdly, and Harry sees the Slytherin in him then, the part that he’d been slowly forgetting lately. He knows that most of the Gryffindor has faded from him, puffed out with his cigarette smoke. Someone else could have it, the bravery, the loyalty. The world damn sure needed it. 

HARRY

Do you want to go back?

Blaise touches the rim of his drink, a small movement, tracing around the glass. Blaise has always had lovely hands, the hands of a pianist. He tried to teach Harry to play once, it didn’t work.

BLAISE

No. No I don’t.

He looks at Harry then, maintaining eye contact as he drinks. After so long together, sometimes they don’t need to talk. _No, I don’t want to go back. Not if you aren’t there._

The moment is broken when Emil, the croupier, comes out of the café and walks over to Harry.

EMIL

Excuse me, Monsieur Harry, but a gentleman inside has won twenty thousand bezants. The cashier would like some money.

HARRY

Well, I’ll get it from the safe.

EMIL

I’m so upset, Monsieur Harry. You know I can’t understand—

HARRY

—Forget it, Emil. Mistakes like that happen all the time.

EMIL

I’m awfully sorry.

The three men enter the café, the revolving light swaying across their empty seats. 

##### INT. HARRY’S CAFÉ – MAIN ROOM – NIGHT

The spotlight is fixated on Corina, the orchestra accompanying her performance, and the piano is thrown into a stark darkness. Blaise stops Harry with a hand on his arm, a brief sensation at his elbow. He speaks in a low voice, thick yet smooth. 

BLAISE

I heard there’s going to be some… Excitement, here tonight. An arrest in the café. 

HARRY

What, again?

BLAISE

But not an ordinary arrest. For the murder of those German wizards.

Harry’s eyes slide over the gambling room, and Blaise catches the look.

BLAISE

If you’re thinking of warning him, don’t put yourself out. I don’t see how he can possibly escape. 

HARRY

I wasn’t.

BLAISE 

And here I was thinking some of that old Gryffindor had come back.

Harry’s eye twitches, and Blaise’s hand drops to the top of the piano. He motions with his now empty glass to the stairs, the door leading to Harry’s office at the top. 

##### INT. HARRY’S CAFÉ – OFFICE – NIGHT 

Harry closes the door to the office, walking over to the small dark room, just off his office, where he keeps the safe. 

HARRY

(from in the room)

Blaise, there’s obviously something on your mind, just spill it.

BLAISE

When did you get so observant?

HARRY

I guess you’ve changed me. 

He closes the safe, walking back into his office. He shuffles around his desk for a moment, and then pours himself a brandy, notices Blaise’s empty glass, and pours one for him too without asking. 

BLAISE 

Thank you. Harry, we both know there are tons of exit visas sold here, but they don’t arrest you because you’ve never sold one. 

HARRY

I thought they didn’t arrest me because I let their officers win at roulette.

BLAISE

Okay, that too. But I was talking to my informant, and there is a man who’s arrived in Casablanca on his way to America. Apparently he’ll offer a fortune to anyone who’ll furnish him with an exit visa. 

HARRY

Yeah? What’s his name?

BLAISE

Viktor Krum.

HARRY

Viktor Krum?

Blaise watches Harry’s reaction, as if he doesn’t trust him. Which would be absurd, because they’re partners, best friends, they’re _something_ , right? 

BLAISE

Wow, I haven’t seen you so impressed in a long time.

HARRY

Well, he’s succeeded in impressing half the world.

BLAISE

That’s true, but Harry, we can’t help him. 

HARRY 

Who said I was going to help him? 

BLAISE 

Not I, I’m simply saying that if you were to try, it could end very badly. 

HARRY

Why am I the one getting lectured here?

BLAISE

Because you’re the Gryffindor.

Harry rolls his eyes, taking a sip of brandy.

HARRY

I’m not like that anymore.

BLAISE 

Of course, and I’m not Slytherin. 

HARRY

Well, my Slytherin, shall we place bets on how he manages to escape?

BLAISE

What if he doesn’t?

HARRY

Oh, stop it. He escaped from a concentration camp, plus the Nazis and Dark Wizards have been chasing him all over Europe.

BLAISE

The way they’re talking about it down at the station,

(he takes a sly sip of his drink)

and by that, I mean how Louis talks about it in bed, this will be the end of the chase.

HARRY

Twenty thousand galleons says it isn’t.

Blaise quirks an eyebrow, leaning back on the legs of his chair, soft lamplight throwing his face into shadow. 

BLAISE

Is that a serious offer?

HARRY

I just paid out twenty. I’d like to get it back.

BLAISE

Make it ten. I am but a poor piano player.

HARRY

We both know that’s not true, but fine.

BLAISE

Done. No matter how clever he is, he still needs an exit visa, or I should say, two.

HARRY

Why two?

BLAISE

I hear he’s travelling with a man.

HARRY

I’m sure he’ll just take one. 

BLAISE 

I doubt it. If he didn’t leave him in Marseilles, or in Oran, I can’t imagine he would leave him in Casablanca. That would just be rude. 

HARRY

It seems unfair that you’re going on information I don’t have. 

BLAISE 

If you wanted to know as much as I do about Casablanca, you would think about sleeping with the chief of police’s brother as well. 

Harry laughs and rolls his eyes again. No matter how cold Blaise is, he always ends up giving himself away. He sleeps around specifically because he has so much love to give, and no one he’s deemed worthy enough to give it to fully. It’s been like this even since their days at Hogwarts, and the truth of it comes out in weird ways. Such as following Harry across the world, and sleeping with any man, woman, or otherwise that he’s deemed attractive... Or who could give him something.

HARRY

Really Blaise, what even gave you the impression I’d have any interest in helping Krum escape?

Blaise leans forward now, an aristocratic air falling over him. He’s never shaken the aura he gained growing up with his rich mother, even if he is just a “piano player” now. It falls over him like a well-worn cloak, something that he’s never really taken off.

BLAISE

Because, my dear Harry, I suspect that under that cynical shell you’re a sentimentalist at heart.

Harry makes a face, scrunching up his eyebrows, the silver scar tissue over his left eye wrinkling. 

BLAISE

Laugh if you want to, but I know you better than anyone. Remember when we smuggled sneak-o-scopes to the Ethiopian Aurors in ’35? And don’t forget, when we teamed up against that group of Dark Wizards in Spain the following year. 

HARRY

We did do that but, well, that was nothing!

BLAISE 

Maybe. 

He takes another slow sip of his drink, staring at Harry all the while. His eyes are sharp, and Harry feels them piercing his chest. It’s less often than one would think that they look at each other, really look, as it sometimes is with people you know too well. And it always hurts, just a little bit. 

The gaze is broken when a waiter, Amelia, enters the office, her face contorted with nerves.

AMELIA

Major Strasser is here, sir. 

Harry nods, thanking her, and she leaves as quickly as she came. Blaise stares at him in shock, glass stilled at his lips. 

HARRY

What?

BLAISE 

You know who that is, don’t you? 

HARRY

No? 

Blaise stands up abruptly, straightening his tie, pulling out a bristled brush to smooth the waves of his hair. Harry just watches him, the way the suit pulls across his chest and shoulders, how he moves like a blade through water. 

BLAISE

You don’t keep a wizard like Major Strasser waiting.

##### INT. HARRY’S CAFÉ – MAIN ROOM – NIGHT 

Vane walks up to Carl, and he looks almost pleased to see her. 

VANE

Carl, see that Major Strasser gets a good table, one close to those witches, perhaps.

CARL

I have already given him the best, knowing he would take it anyway.

Vane laughs it off, but her eyes twinkle darkly, and as Carl walks away, she turns to Auror McLaggen. 

VANE

Take him quietly. Two Aurors at every door.

MCLAGGEN

Everything is ready, ma’am.

With a salute, McLaggen goes off to speak with the other Aurors, though his gaze lingers on the witches that Strasser has been put next to. 

At the back of the café, Harry and Blaise come down the stairs, standing together, watching. Blaise leans on the bannister, drinking. 

HARRY

I thought we were going to talk to them? You said we don’t keep him waiting.

Blaise waves impassively. 

BLAISE

No, no. I just don’t want to miss anything.

Harry rolls his eyes and leaves Blaise standing there. Believe it or not, he does have work that needs to be done. Owning a café isn’t just an eternal romp around with your piano player. 

Over at Strasser’s table, Vane has not lost that dark twinkle in her eye.

VANE

Good evening, gentlemen.

STRASSER

Good evening, Captain.

HEINZE

Won’t you join us?

She smiles graciously, sitting down, light glinting off the silver studs of her uniform. 

VANE

Thank you. It is a pleasure to have you here, Major.

STRASSER

(to the waiter)

Champagne and a tin of caviar.

VANE

May I recommend Veuve Cliquot ’26, a very good French brut.

WAITER

Very well, sir.

STRASSER

A very interesting club.

VANE

Especially tonight, Major. In a few minutes you will witness the arrest of the man who murdered the couriers.

STRASSER

I expected no less, Captain.

His lips pull back into a dark smile, cheeks stiff, and for a moment they are on the exact same side. 

##### INT. HARRY’S CAFÉ – GAMBLING ROOM – NIGHT 

Ugarte stands at the roulette table, tension evident in the hunch of his shoulders, but he’s laughing all the same. McLaggen and another Auror approach him from behind, hands already clenched around their wands, hidden under their robes. 

MCLAGGEN

Mister Ugarte?

Ugarte looks around as if confused, a few strands of slicked back hair falling out of place. 

UGARTE

Oh, yes?

MCLAGGEN

I need you to come with me. 

UGARTE

Certainly. May I first please cash my chips?

McLaggen nods curtly and they follow Ugarte to the cashier’s window. He puts his chips through the window, letting his hand rest on the counter-top, as if he doesn’t want time to keep moving forward. 

UGARTE

Pretty lucky, huh? Two thousand, please.

Two more Aurors station themselves at the door, their grey and navy-blue robes blocking out their figures. The cashier hands over the chips slowly, and though most of the café is rowdy and smiling, there are a few who seem to be holding their breath. 

UGARTE

Thank you.

Ugarte starts to walk out of the gambling room, followed by McLaggen, but when he reaches the door, he slips past Abdul and slams it behind him. 

##### INT. HARRY’S CAFÉ – MAIN ROOM – NIGHT 

By the time McLaggen and his fellow Auror have managed to get the door open again, Ugarte has pulled out his wand. He points curses at the doorway, bright green jets of light that alert the guests and stir pandemonium. People on the dance floor lift up their robes, rushing off, and others shout in alarm at their tables, covering their heads with their arms as spells ricochet. Some forget their ability to cast shield charms in the moment of panic, while others are simply not skilled enough to do so. 

As Ugarte runs through the hallway he sees Harry, appearing from the opposite direction, and grabs him by the arm, his slim fingers grasping at Harry’s sleeves, hands trembling. Harry’s eyes narrow, and he feels for that familiar pool of magic that rests at his center, something swirling and dark. 

UGARTE

Harry, please, you have to help me.

His voice is steady, surprisingly, but when Harry licks his dry lips, he can feel the magic in the air, and it’s terrified. 

HARRY

You’re mad, there’s no way you could get away, even if I did.

UGARTE

But Harry you must do something, hide me! You must help me, Harry, just do something.

It would be easy to pull at his magic, he can feel it under his skin, but then the Aurors are there, and Ugarte’s hand is slipping away. Ugarte’s calling to him, calling his name. This isn’t the first time Ugarte has said his name, but it’s the first time he’s sounded so afraid. Magic and memories coalesce, and unbidden, Harry remembers the last time someone else called his name before, their voice terrified. 

UGARTE

Harry! Harry!

The Aurors drag him away, his normally immaculate hair now completely disheveled, and that reminds Harry of something, too. 

From around a corner, a familiar black bob appears, making sure that things are safe. She walks past Harry, sneering nonchalantly. 

PANSY

When they come get me, Harry, I hope you’ll be more of a help.

HARRY

I don’t stick my neck out for anybody. 

Harry comes out to the middle of the floor. An air of tense expectancy pervades the room. A few customers are on the verge of leaving, and with the manner of someone who's done this before, Harry speaks to them calmly. 

HARRY

I’m sorry there was a disturbance, but it’s all over now. Everything’s all right. Just sit down and have a good time. Enjoy yourselves.

BLAISE 

Want me to play something? 

HARRY 

(shaking his head)

No, walk with me. Corina can handle the music for a bit. 

He nods at where she was leaning on the piano, and she picks up her guitar, beginning to strum and sing, her voice light. 

BLAISE

You better not be thinking of taking her on full time.

HARRY

I would if I thought your jealousy wouldn’t get the better of you. Wouldn’t you like a night off once in a while?

BLAISE

This place isn’t the same without me. It wouldn’t be Harry’s Café without Blaise.

HARRY

I’m pretty sure it wouldn’t be Harry’s café without Harry, but have it your way.

Harry and Blaise begin walking around to different guests, inquiring into their satisfaction. He stops at a table with a well-to-do couple. 

HARRY

And how are you finding your meal Mr. and Mrs. Delacoure?

MR. DELACOURE

Perfect, Harry, as always.

HARRY

Wonderful.

VANE

(calling)

Harry, Blaise! 

Harry and Blaise stop their route and head over to their table. Harry’s gaze is weary. He’s never quite trusted Captain Vane, even if Blaise is sleeping with her brother. 

VANE

Harry, Blaise, this is Major Heinrich Strasser of the Third Reich. Known better to us as Oberster Zauberer Strasser of the German Ministry.

STRASSER

How do you do, Mr. Potter, Mr. Zabini? 

Harry raises an eyebrow, obviously not having expected the polite greeting, but Blaise nudges his foot. 

BLAISE

How do you do?

HARRY

Oh, how do you do?

VANE

And you already know Herr Heinze of the Third Reich.

STRASSER

Please join us, Mr. Potter, Mr, Zabini.

They both sit down, Blaise quickly putting on a charming smile, Harry feeling much less comfortable. He doesn’t like the way every chain on Vane’s uniform shines, like she polishes them every morning without fail, or how the badges glint on Strasser’s breast pocket, symbols of status for what, Harry doesn’t want to know. 

VANE

We are very honoured tonight. Major Strasser is one of the reasons the German Ministry and the Third Reich enjoys the reputation it has today.

STRASSER

You repeat “Third Reich” as though you expect there to be others.

VANE

Well, personally, Major, I will take what comes.

STRASSER

(to Harry)

Do you mind if I ask you a few questions? Unofficially, of course.

HARRY

Make it official, if you like.

STRASSSER

What is your nationality?

HARRY

(sassily)

I’m a drunk.

BLAISE

(chiming in)

That makes Harry a citizen of the world.

At Strasser’s unapproving look, Harry coughs, amending his statement. 

HARRY

I was born in the West Country of England, if that will help you any.

STRASSER

Your parents?

HARRY

(rolling his eyes)

Indian father, British mother. 

STRASSER

It is my understanding that you came here from Paris at the time of occupation.

HARRY

Well, there seems to be no secret about that.

STRASSER

Are you one of those wizards who cannot imagine Germans in their beloved Paris?

HARRY

I don’t particularly love Paris.

STRASSER

And who do you think will win the war?

HARRY

With wizards involved? I haven’t the slightest idea.

STRASSER

You weren’t always so carefully neutral. We have a complete dossier on you.

Strasser takes a little black book from his pocket and turns a page. Harry observes him idly, as Blaise watches for his reaction. The table is made up of mixed gazes; Strasser reading his book, Harry watching Strasser, Vane watching Harry, and Blaise watching Vane. 

STRASSER

“Harry James Potter, British. Age twenty-eight. Cannot return to his country.”

Strasser looks up from his book, his dark eyes cold and calculating. Harry takes a drag of the cigarette still between his fingers—dimly surprised it hasn’t burned down to ash already—all the while meeting Strasser’s gaze, as if challenging him. The smoke fills his lungs, and he feels energy crackling through him. He misses confrontation, dueling. Ugarte’s arrest has sparked something in him. Something temperamental and wild. 

STRASSER

The reason is a little vague. We also know what you did in Paris, Mr. Potter, and we also know why you left Paris.

Harry reaches over and takes the book from Strasser’s hand. Blaise’s grasp on his glass of brandy tightens nearly to the point of shattering, but he says nothing. If Gryffindors are taught to challenge their rulers, Slytherins are taught to fear them. 

STRASSER

Don’t worry. We are not going to broadcast it.

Harry looks up from the book. 

HARRY

Are my eyes really green?

STRASSER

You will forgive my curiosity, Mr. Potter. The point is, an enemy of the Reich has come to Casablanca and we are checking up on anybody who can be of help to us.

HARRY

(glances towards Blaise)

My interest in whether Viktor Krum stays or goes is purely a sporting one.

STRASSER

In this case, you have no sympathy, then?

HARRY

I suppose not.

STRASSER

Viktor Krum published the foulest lies in the Bulgarian newspapers until the very day we marched in, and even after that he continued to broadcast on a wizarding radio in a wine cellar. 

VANE

Of course, one must admit he has great courage.

STRASSER

I admit he is very clever. Three times he slipped through our fingers. In Paris he continued his activities. We intend not to let it happen again.

Harry stands up, his chair scraping back on the floor. Blaise watches him, intent on following his lead.

HARRY

You’ll excuse me, gentlemen. Your business is politics. Mine is running a bar.

VANE

You see, Major, you have nothing to worry about with Harry and Blaise.

Strasser watches Harry go, flicking the corners of his black book agitatedly.

STRASSER

Perhaps.

Blaise looks uncomfortably between the two and then excuses himself, sharing a forced smile with Vane. He walks over to the piano, motioning Corina away, who shrugs and flips him off before heading over to a witch on the dance floor. At the same time, a couple comes in the front door, and Blaise nearly misses the piano seat. 

They are Viktor Krum, the Bulgarian resistance leader, and a very handsome young man wearing simple white robes. His sharp cheekbones and grey eyes draw the faces of other guests, people turning to stare at Draco Malfoy. 

Amelia comes up to them and bows, her sleek red ponytail falling over her shoulder. 

AMELIA

Yes, Monsieur?

VIKTOR

I reserved a table. Viktor Krum.

AMELIA

Ah, yes, Monsieur Krum. Right this way.

As Amelia takes them to a table they pass by the piano, and the man looks at Blaise. He avoids his gaze, keeping his eye on the keys as they go past. His face is set in a scowl, and the notes come out heavier than usual. 

Cho, a fit, middle-aged woman in navy blue robes observes the couple from a distance. 

The headwaiter seats Draco. Krum takes the chair opposite and surveys the room. 

Strasser and Vane look up at them from their table. 

VIKTOR

Two cointreux, please.

WAITER

Yes, Monsieur.

VIKTOR

(to Draco)

I saw no one of Ugarte’s description.

DRACO

Neither did I. 

Draco pauses to look around, eyes wandering back to the piano over and over. 

I don’t like the feeling of this place.

VIKTOR

If ve vould valk out so soon, it vould only call attention to us. Perhaps Ugarte’s in some other part of the café.

Cho walks up to their table. She has a round face and bushy eyebrows, a trustworthy face. 

CHO

Excuse me, but you look like a couple on their way to America.

VIKTOR

Vell?

Cho takes a ring from her finger. It’s a black cameo with the swirling white design of an eagle.

CHO

You will find a market there for this ring. I am forced to sell it at a great sacrifice.

VIKTOR

Thank you, but I hardly think—

CHO

—Then perhaps for the blond. The ring is quite unique.

She holds it down for their view. Carefully lifting the black stone, she reveals a gold plate in the setting underneath, an impression of a lightning bolt. Viktor’s face betrays nothing, but he sits up straighter. Draco's eyes narrow. 

VIKTOR

Oh, yes, I’m very interested.

Cho sits down with them, blowing her bangs out of her face. 

VIKTOR

(lower voice)

Vat is your name?

CHO

Cho Chang, British, and at your service, sir.

At this moment, Vane approaches the table from behind Viktor. Draco reaches out casually, rubbing a thumb across the veins of Viktor’s hand, and he understands. 

VIKTOR

(in a low voice)

I’ll meet you in a few minutes at the bar.

(louder)

I do not think ve vant to buy the ring. But thank you for showing it to us.

Cho, taking the cue, sighs and puts the ring away.

CHO

Such a bargain. But that is your decision?

VIKTOR

I’m sorry. It is.

Cho gets up and leaves at the same time that Vane moves to the table. She looks back once, worriedly. 

VANE

Monsieur Krum, is it not?

VIKTOR

Indeed.

VANE

I am Captain Romilda Vane, Prefect of Police, Head of the Bureau of Aurors.

VIKTOR

Yes, vat is it you vant?

VANE

(amiably)

Merely to welcome you to Casablanca and wish you a pleasant stay. It is not often we have so distinguished a visitor.

VIKTOR

Thank you. I hope you’ll forgive me, Captain, but the present French administration has not always been so cordial. May I present Monsieur Draco Malfoy.

VANE

I was informed you were the most beautiful man ever to visit Casablanca. That was a gross understatement.

One might mistake Draco’s manner for friendly and reserved, but his voice is cold and low. 

DRACO

You’re very kind.

VANE

Et un Français aussi, je vois.

VIKTOR

Won’t you join us?

Vane sits down, and Draco throws a glare at Viktor. 

VANE

If you will permit me.

(calls to the waiter)

Oh, Amelia. Please, a bottle of your best champagne, and put it on my bill.

AMELIA

Very well, Madame.

VIKTOR

No, Captain, please.

VANE

No. Please, Monsieur, it is a little game we play. They put it on the bill, I tear the bill up. It is very convenient.

Draco glances off in Blaise’s direction, ignoring both parties.

DRACO

Captain, the man who is playing the piano, I have seen him somewhere before.

VANE

Blaise?

DRACO

Yes, him.

VANE

He came from Paris with Harry.

DRACO

Harry?

VANE

(smiling)

Monsieur, you are in Harry’s and Harry is—

DRACO

—Is what?

VANE

Well, Monsieur, he’s the kind of man that, well, if I were not the Captain, I should be in love with Harry. But what a fool I am, talking to a handsome wizard about another man.

Out of the corner of her eye, Vane sees Strasser walking to their table, and she jumps to her feet.

VANE

Excuse me. Ah, Major. Monsieur Malfoy, Monsieur Krum, may I present Major Heinrich Strasser.

Strasser bows and smiles, but his harrowed cheeks and sharp bones make it cold. 

STRASSER

How do you do? This is a pleasure I have long looked forward to.

There is not the slightest ounce of recognition from either Draco or Viktor, and it becomes a game, as Strasser waits to be asked to seat himself. 

VIKTOR

I’m sure you’ll excuse me if I am not gracious, but you see, Major Strasser, I’m a Bulgarian.

STRASSER

You were a Bulgarian. Now you are a subject of the German Reich.

Viktor stands. He is slightly shorter than Strasser, but he is heavyset, and even wearing a suit one can tell he is muscular, that he grew up fighting and never stopped.

VIKTOR

I’ve never accepted that privilege, and I’m now on French soil.

STRASSER

I would like to discuss some matters arising from your presence on French soil.

VIKTOR

This is hardly the time or place.

STRASSER

(hardening)

Then we shall state another time and another place. Tomorrow at ten in the Prefect’s office, with Monsieur Malfoy.

VIKTOR

Captain Vane, I am under your authority. Is it your order that ve come to your office?

VANE

(amiably)

Let us say that it is my request. That is a much more pleasant word.

VIKTOR

Very vell.

Vane and Strasser bow shortly, nodding at Draco, who doesn’t return the gesture. His mouth is twisted in a scowl. 

VANE

A very clever tactical retreat, Major.

Strasser looks at Vane sharply, but sees only a noncommittal smile on her face.

Viktor remains standing at the table as Strasser and Vane leave.

VIKTOR

This time they really mean to stop me.

DRACO

I’ll admit I’m afraid for you.

VIKTOR

Ve have been in difficult places before, haven’t ve?

DRACO

Yes, and I’ve never had to hold my tongue so tightly.

VIKTOR

If they knew who you knew…

DRACO

Yes, I know. I shouldn’t give them a reason to question me, but we looked into Vane, remember? As far as we know she’s not a legilimens.

VIKTOR

But ve don’t know about Strasser.

DRACO

And Strasser obviously doesn’t know about me. 

VIKTOR 

It can’t hurt to be careful. 

Draco forces a smile, but his eyes are troubled. 

On the floor Corina strums a guitar and begins her number, giving Blaise a chance to head to the bar. His gaze flickers between Cho, Strasser, Vane, Harry, Viktor, and Draco, his eyes fluttering like a snitch in play. Viktor looks about with feigned casualness. He sees Strasser and Vane whispering together, then notices Cho at the bar. His eyes skip over Blaise, who smirks, checks his golden wristwatch, and asks for a shot of rye. He has time to listen to this conversation before his hands are needed. 

VIKTOR

I need to find out vat Chang knows.

DRACO

Be careful.

VIKTOR

I vill, don’t worry.

He rises and goes off, while Draco watches him. His gaze jumps from Viktor, to Cho, to Blaise… 

At the bar, Cho moves ice cubes around a sweating glass of water. Viktor walks up and casually takes a place next to her. 

VIKTOR

Mrs. Chang, the ring, could I see it again.

CHO

Of course.

VIKTOR

(to Sacha)

A champagne cocktail, please.

Viktor takes the ring and looks at it, turning it over in his calloused fingers.

CHO

(in a low voice)

I recognise you from the news photographs, Mr. Krum.

VIKTOR

In a concentration camp, one is apt to lose a little veight.

CHO

We read five times that you were killed in five different places.

VIKTOR

(smiles wryly)

As you see, it was true every single time. Thank heaven I found you, Chang. I am looking for a man by the name of Ugarte. He is supposed to help me.

Cho shakes her head, her black hair falls in a plait down her back, and she flicks some loose locks over her shoulder. A scar runs down the side of her head, over the top of her ear and down her jaw, as if a bludger slammed into her mid-flight. 

CHO

Ugarte can’t even help himself, Mr. Krum. He’s under arrest for murder. He was arrested here tonight.

Viktor absorbs the shock quietly, his brow darkening. 

VIKTOR

I see.

CHO

(with intense loyalty)

But we who are still free will do all we can. We’re organised, Mr. Krum, underground like everywhere else. Tomorrow night there is a meeting at the Caverne du Bois. If you would come…

She stops when Sacha brings the drink to Viktor. 

Corina finishes her song, and the crowd applauds quite enthusiastically. Blaise takes that as his cue, slamming back the shot that he’s been twirling idly, and heading over to the piano. He feels Draco’s eyes on his back.

DRACO

(to Amelia)

Will you ask the pianist to come over here, please?

AMELIA

Very well, Monsieur.

Vane comes up to the bar near Cho and Viktor. 

VANE

How’s the jewelry business, Chang?

CHO

Not phenomenal in any way.

(to Sacha)

May I have my check, please?

VANE

Too bad you weren’t here earlier, Monsieur Krum. We had quite a bit of excitement this evening, didn’t we, Chang?

CHO

Er, I suppose. Excuse me, my girlfriend is waiting. 

She gets up hurriedly, walking over to Corina and taking her by the arm, steering her towards an empty table.

VIKTOR

My bill.

VANE

No. Two champagne cocktails, please.

VIKTOR

This is the second time you’ve tried to buy me a drink, I don’t think it’s going to work.

Blaise wheels in the piano to Draco’s table, his face contorted in something like grim curiosity and vitriol. 

Draco himself is eyeing Blaise coolly, although underneath, he is not as self-possessed as he tries to appear. 

DRACO

Hello, Blaise.

BLAISE

Hello, Draco. I never expected to see you again.

He sits down and is ready to play, pulling on his cuffs, two short jerks, a source of habit. 

DRACO

It’s been a long time.

BLAISE

Yes, it has. A lot of water under the bridge.

DRACO

Perhaps. Some of the old songs, Blaise.

Blaise glares, and begins to play a number. He’s coiled tight, waiting for something, as his fingers dance across the piano.

DRACO

Where’s Harry?

BLAISE

(evading)

I don’t know, I haven’t seen him all night.

He looks annoyed, as if he’d rather be anywhere else, which is true.

DRACO

When will he be back?

BLAISE

How should I know?

DRACO

Because you’re his best friend?

BLAISE

(snaps)

I don’t keep him on a leash.

DRACO

(snidely)

Oh, so the offer is still open?

BLAISE

Leave him alone, Draco. You’re bad luck for him.

DRACO

If I’m bad luck, you’re the grim reaper. Play it once, Blaise, for old time’s sake.

He lets his fingers keep dancing, guiding him through the music, no clear song, just transitions between tempo, between feeling. This is the part he likes, where his chest normally uncoils, the viper inside tamed for a moment. But not with Draco peering at him with those sharp grey eyes. He feels almost ready to snap, each key press another pull on the wire. 

BLAISE

I don’t know what you mean, Draco.

DRACO

Play it, Blaise. Play our song.

BLAISE

I can’t remember that one.

(slamming on the pedal)

I’m a little rusty on it.

Of course he can play it, but he doesn’t want to play it. He wants to sink his teeth into Draco, let the poison out of his fangs. 

DRACO

I’ll hum it for you.

He starts to hum, all the while watching Blaise. If someone were watching the scene, they would say he was riling Blaise up, but that isn’t quite true. He’s riling himself up, seeing how much he can steep himself in memory without breaking. 

Blaise knows this, has been around Draco enough. He begins to play it very softly.

DRACO

Sing it, Blaise.

So, Blaise sings, the hiss and coil of a viper, rich scales sliding across each other, bright and sparkling on the surface, but deep and dark underneath. 

BLAISE

You must remember this, A kiss is just a kiss, A sigh is just a sigh, The fundamental things apply, As time goes by.

The door to the gambling room opens and Harry comes swinging out, face furious, livid. His hands are clenched and blue sparks dance across his knuckles. 

BLAISE

And when two lovers woo, They both say I love you, On that matter you can reply, No matter what the future brings, As time goes by.

Harry walks briskly up to the piano, where his hand clenches the top, wood begins to splinter. 

HARRY

Blaise, I thought I told you never to play—

As he sees Draco, he stops short, all energy fading out, and Blaise stops playing. Harry spends a long moment looking, just looking at Draco. 

His gaze is broken by Viktor and Vane approaching the table from the bar. Blaise quickly mumbles a Reparo, and the splinters of the piano fall back into place. 

VANE

(to Draco)

Well, you were asking about Harry and here he is. Monsieur, may I present—

HARRY

Hello, Draco.

DRACO

Hello, Harry.

VANE

Oh, you’ve already met Harry, Monsieur?

Neither replies. 

VANE

Well then, perhaps you also—

DRACO

—This is Mr. Krum.

VIKTOR

How do you do?

Harry looks at him in silence, nods. 

VIKTOR

One hears a great deal about Harry in Casablanca.

HARRY

And about Viktor Krum everywhere.

VIKTOR

Von’t you join us for a drink?

VANE

(laughing)

Oh, no, Harry never—

HARRY

—Thanks. I will.

Harry sits down.

VANE

Well! A precedent is being broken. Amelia!

VIKTOR

This is a very interesting café. I congratulate you.

HARRY

And I congratulate you.

VIKTOR

Vat for?

HARRY

Your work.

VIKTOR

Thank you. I try.

HARRY

We all try. You succeed.

Vane sits back, looking between Draco and Harry.

VANE

I can’t get over you two. He was asking about you earlier, Harry, in a way that made me extremely jealous.

DRACO

(to Harry)

I wasn’t sure you were the same. Let’s see, the last time we met—

HARRY

—It was “La Belle Aurore.”

DRACO

How nice. You remembered. But of course, that was the day the Germans marched into Paris.

HARRY

Not an easy day to forget.

DRACO

No, of course not.

HARRY

I remember every detail. The Germans wore grey, you wore blue.

DRACO

Yes, well, I put those robes away. When the Germans march out, I’ll wear them again.

VANE

Harry, you’re becoming quite human. I suppose we have you to thank for that, Monsieur.

VIKTOR

Draco, I don’t vish to be the one to say it, but it’s late.

VANE

(glancing at her wristwatch)

So it is. And we have a curfew here in Casablanca. It would never do for the Chief of Police to be found drinking after hours and have to fine herself.

Harry and Draco look at each other, Viktor signals to Amelia, who has been hanging around patiently, professionalism evident on her freckled face.

VIKTOR

I hope ve didn’t overstay our velcome.

HARRY

Not at all.

AMELIA

(to Viktor)

Your check, sir.

Harry takes the check.

HARRY

(to Amelia)

Oh, it’s my party.

She nods, understanding more than perhaps anyone else there. 

VANE

Another precedent gone! This has been a very interesting evening. I’ll call you a cab. Gasoline rationing, time of night.

Vane leaves. 

VIKTOR

Ve’ll come again.

HARRY

Any time.

DRACO

Say goodnight to Blaise for me.

HARRY

I will.

DRACO

There’s still nobody in the world who can play like him.

HARRY

He hasn’t played that particular song in a long time.

Draco smiles, part cold, part sad. They all say goodnight, Viktor and Draco leave as Harry watches their backs. 

##### EXT. HARRY’S CAFÉ – NIGHT 

VIKTOR

A very puzzling fellow, this Harry. Vat sort is he?

Draco doesn’t look at him, just stares into the dimly lit street. 

DRACO

I really can’t say, though I saw him quite often in Paris.

They join Vane at the curb.

VANE

Tomorrow at ten at the Prefect’s office.

VIKTOR

We’ll be there.

Harry rarely allows for Aparation at the cafe, doesn’t like the risk that comes with drunk people and traveling through space. Another round of goodnights and they get into a waiting cab, leaving Vane on the curb, smoking and looking bemused. 

The magic sign goes off and the doorway is now illuminated by the revolving beacon light of the airport. Vane takes off her police cap, and the light glints off her dark black hair, slicked into a tight bun. She waves her wand lazily, and it all begins to fall around her shoulders, long and wavy. She walks off into the night, swinging her cap by her side, still with that bemused smile. 

##### INT. HARRY’S CAFÉ – MAIN ROOM – NIGHT 

Everyone has left and the house lights are out, the room is in darkness. Harry sits alone at a table, a glass of bourbon directly in front of him, and another empty glass on the table before an empty chair. 

Harry fills the glass, but just sits, his face blank. The beacon light sweeps around the room creating a mood of unreality. 

Blaise comes in and stands beside Harry, his coat slung over his arm, button up loose. 

BLAISE

(sarcastically)

Boss.

Harry doesn’t respond, just drinks. 

BLAISE

Harry!

Harry looks at him, but still doesn’t respond. 

BLAISE

Shouldn’t you be going to sleep or something?

HARRY

Not right now.

Blaise knows Harry is in a very grim mood, but he’s in a grim one himself. 

BLAISE

(snidely)

Are you planning on going to bed in the near future?

HARRY

No.

BLAISE

Are you ever going to bed?

HARRY

No.

BLAISE

Funny, I’m not tired either.

HARRY

Good, then have a drink.

BLAISE

I think I’m good.

HARRY

Okay, then don’t have a drink.

BLAISE

Why don’t we get out of here?

HARRY

No, sir. I’m waiting for someone.

BLAISE

(through gritted teeth)

There’s nothing but trouble for you here.

HARRY

He’s coming back. I know he’s coming back.

Blaise rubs his temples; he’s tired of trying.

BLAISE

We could take the car and drive all night, get drunk, stay away until he’s gone.

HARRY

Oh, shut up and go home, will you?

BLAISE

I live here, you bloody idiot, I can’t leave you! Even if I wanted to!

He throws down his jacket, only wincing a little bit when the expensive fabric hits the floor, and he sits down heavily at the piano.

BLAISE

Fuck you, Harry.

He starts playing softly, improvising, letting the viper unfurl. 

HARRY

They took Ugarte and then he walked in. Why does it have to go like that? 

(pause)

Blaise?

Blaise looks at him with dark, tired eyes, not needing to look at the piano to keep playing. 

HARRY

If it’s December 1941 in Casablanca, what time is it in Scotland?

BLAISE

(deadpan, the watch on his wrist ticking softly)

My watch stopped.

HARRY

I bet they’re asleep at Hogwarts—

BLAISE

—Which you should be too.

HARRY

I bet they’re asleep all over the world.

BLAISE

Who, Harry?

Suddenly Harry pounds the table, magic crackling, and buries his head in his arms. Blaise just keeps playing, letting the notes take away some of Harry’s anger. The energy fades out of the room. This isn’t the first time Blaise has played Harry out of a mood. 

HARRY

Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, why did he have to walk into mine?

He holds his head in his hands, and then looks up.

HARRY

What’s that you’re playing?

BLAISE

Just a little something of my own

HARRY

It’s nice.

BLAISE

Isn’t it?

HARRY

But you know what I want to hear.

BLAISE

No, I don’t think I do.

HARRY

You played it for him, you can play it for me.

BLAISE

Well, I don’t think I can remember it.

HARRY

If he can stand it, I can.

Blaise stops playing, just softly plunking out one note, and looks at Harry for a long time.

HARRY

Please, Blaise?

He begins to play, and Harry stares ahead. It’s as if an entire orchestra accompanies him. If Draco was entertaining the memories, Harry is living in them, chest deep in the past. It’s been so long since he’d last seen him, years, since Harry first laid eyes on him in Paris.

He had first seen Draco’s eyes through a crowd, sun glinting off his white-blond hair. At the time, he hadn’t thought too deeply about it, a brief moment where green met grey, a chance encounter in a busy market. 

Later, he would feel the thrum of Blaise’s love melodies exploding in his chest as he and Draco danced in an empty room, bickered over tea, and drove through languid countrysides, talking about nothing, about everything. 

Today, in the few steps it would have taken to close the distance between himself and Draco, there lay a battlefield of shared history. When they had locked eyes over Blaise’s piano, landmines had exploded in Harry’s chest, those familiar, sharp, grey eyes, which were normally so cold to strangers, turned soft. 

Harry buries his head in his arms, and lets Blaise’s melodies wash over him, lets himself be pulled away in a tide of remembrance. 

##### INT. PARIS HOTEL – 1940s – DAY 

Smoke curls through the room, lace curtains fluttering at an open window, the lights of Paris shimmering on the street below. Two lovers lay in bed, one splayed out fully, body strong. A cigarette hangs limply from his fingers and he takes a slow, wistful drag. The other is curled up in his lover’s side, chest rising and falling peacefully. It’s a languid summers night, and if you listen closely, you can hear the vinyl scratch beats of our characters’ hearts, the medley of their love coming out in whispers and bursts. 

Neither of them realises what’s coming for them, and they never have. Magic wisps through their veins, articulated in ley lines and wand cores, that they learn to control in school, then learn to let go in the real world. When they first met, all those years ago, they hadn’t realized what they would go on to mean to each other. What they would both go on to become. 

Harry is working in a bar still, magical drinks and potions, music and laughter. He likes to say he has a career in pleasantry; keeping people happy, making the most of a bad situation. 

And Blaise joined him wherever they went; they were friends as well as business partners. He had always enjoyed watching Blaise’s lithe piano-playing hands dance across the keys, accompanied by a tumbler of whisky and biting wit. He was kind in his own way—he liked to keep Harry out of trouble, partially out of his own selfish desire to remain employed, but that was neither here nor there. It was a mutually beneficial relationship, and one that Harry didn’t want to lose. 

Draco was another story. 

They had met in Paris, taken a liking to each other as they drove through the countryside, talking about nothing, about everything. They didn’t talk about their past, or barely, there was too much buried there. Things they didn’t want the other to know, things they didn’t want themselves to know. Harry knew Draco was French, that he had gone to a wizarding school around here called Beauxbatons, that he was estranged from his father, terribly close to his mother, and that Harry would never meet either of them. 

Draco knew Harry was British, that he had left without looking back; that there was nothing there for him, no parents, no family, just painful memories. He didn’t need to know much more than that. 

An ashtray sitson the bedside table, and Harry puts out his cigarette. Draco curls farther into his side, and Harry looks down at him lovingly. 

##### INT. PARIS APARTMENT – 1940s – DAY 

Draco fixes flowers on the windowsill while Harry pours champagne, he brings over two glasses.

HARRY

Who are you really? And what were you before? What did you do and what did you think?

DRACO

We said no questions, besides, I could ask you the same thing.

HARRY

Here’s looking at you, Draco. 

They drink. 

##### INT. PARIS CAFÉ – 1940s – NIGHT 

Draco is slightly taller than Harry, but he is all long limbs and angles. Harry is the type of person you want to hold you, strong arms and loving hands. They dance together, taking turns taking the lead. Draco rests his head on Harry’s shoulder, and they sway like that, slowly, contently. 

##### INT. DRACO’S PARIS APARTMENT – 1940s – DAY

Draco tosses and vanishes a coin repeatedly, until Harry swipes out and catches it, his reflexes fire. 

DRACO 

(smirking)

Bezant for your thoughts?

Harry rolls the coin across his knuckles, a muggle sleight of hand that he learnt as a boy. 

HARRY

I was wondering how I got to be so lucky, to show up in Paris and find you waiting for me.

Draco looks serious then, the tone of the room has changed. 

DRACO

You mean why there isn’t another man?

Harry nods, realizing what he might have stumbled into.

DRACO

It’s simple. There was, he’s dead.

HARRY

I’m sorry for asking.

DRACO

I’m not. There’s only one answer to solve all your questions.

From where Draco is sitting by the windowsill, Harry can walk over and put a hand under his chin, their heights reversed. He tilts Draco’s head up, leaning in slowly, and presses their lips together. Draco swipes his tongue across Harry’s lip, and then the kiss is deepening, Draco is pulling Harry onto his lap, Harry is wrapping his arms around Draco. 

Of course, this couldn’t last, and both of them should have known. Perhaps they did, in a way, and chose to ignore it. 

MONTAGE – DARK WIZARDS INVADE FRANCE 

A) The same summer countryside that Harry and Draco spent those languid days driving through has been reduced to rubble. There is nothing left but burned out and demolished buildings, a field of apple trees flowering for no one, their petals lost on metal and ash. 

B) Dark Wizards fly over a river, swooping low across the water, black cloaks billowing behind them, silver masks fixed in place. They could be mistaken for shooting stars, streaks of reflected light in the darkness. They are bringers of demise, any wish made upon them becomes bad luck in two-fold.

C) Tanks roll down the road to Paris, traces of magic left in their wake, the dusting of dark magic visible on their treads only to wizards. 

D) German war planes fly overhead.

##### EXT. PARIS CAFÉ – 1941 – DAY 

Draco opens le Gazette du Sorciere, spelled to look like a muggle newspaper. Under all that glamour, the headlines are troubling, and Harry leans in over his shoulder, reading along. 

HARRY

I guess nothing can stop them now. Wednesday, Thursday at the latest, they’ll be in Paris.

DRACO

What about you? What will you do?

HARRY

What I’ve always done.

DRACO

(snidely)

Run away?

HARRY

Yes, if that’s what it takes.

DRACO

You’re on their blacklist, how could you possibly get away?

HARRY

(shrugging)

I’ve done it before.

DRACO

(pause)

You could stop them, you know…

Harry sits back, as if he hasn’t heard, and a megaphone equipped truck begins detailing the Germans’ descent into France. If only the Muggles knew how much worse it was going to get, that the German soldiers were some of the least of their worries. 

DRACO

Harry? Are you—

HARRY

I can’t stop them.

DRACO

But you’ve done something like it before.

HARRY 

(shaking his head)

No, I can’t, Draco.

Draco grimaces and lifts his coffee in mock toast. 

DRACO

Here’s hoping, then.

##### INT. LA BELLE AURORE – 1941 – AFTERNOON 

A small café in Montmartre, wooden floors and picnic wallpaper, it’s homely and French, obviously by Draco’s touch. 

Harry walks over to the bar, pulling down the champagne and three glasses. Bringing them to Draco and Blaise at the piano, who is playing “As Time Goes By”. He sets down the glasses, pouring their drinks, but when Draco picks his up, his hand is shaking. 

BLAISE

This almost takes the sting out of being occupied.

Harry laughs, Draco tries to.

HARRY

Alright, love?

Harry pushes a strand of blond hair away from Draco’s eyes. He wants to see those eyes, to see them glitter when Draco smiles, to storm when he frowns. He’s never seen anyone with eyes as expressive, and he’s never loved a pair more.

DRACO

(laughing shakily)

Why did we pick when the world was crumbling to fall in love?

HARRY

It is pretty bad timing. Where were you five years ago?

DRACO

Let’s see… flouncing around Beauxbatons, trying not to disappoint my father. Where were you? 

HARRY

About to take a Portkey out of Britain. 

Draco looks at Harry tenderly and smiles, it’s genuine, fond. They put their champagne glasses on the piano, and Harry sweeps Draco into his arms, kissing him hungrily. The blue silk of his shirt feels like heaven under Harry’s hands, his mouth tastes like richness, skin feels like everything Harry’s ever wanted. Blaise coughs, and at the same time, green sparks and explosions blossom in the distance, ophidian smoke curling into the air, snakes and skulls intertwined. 

DRACO

(sarcastically)

Was that cannon fire, or my heart pounding?

HARRY

(oblivious)

It looks like spell work, and only thirty miles away or so.

BLAISE

Well now the Dark Wizards will come looking for you, and don’t forget the…

(he glances at Draco)

The price on your head.

Harry and Blaise lock eyes knowingly. Blaise is taller than both Draco and Harry, with crew-cut black hair, and dark eyes. He’s always managed to look impeccable, even in their school days. Because they’ve known each other since then, since Hogwarts. Harry doesn’t need to think about that now, Draco looks worried, even if he’s trying to hide it. His gaze flicks between them, and Blaise leans against his piano nonchalantly, long suited legs and shined black shoes. 

Harry wants to keep up the same air, and he hopes trepidation doesn’t slip into his voice.

HARRY

I left a note in my apartment, they’ll know where to find me.

Draco looks at him like he’s trying to pick everything apart. 

DRACO

Funny, I know so little about you.

HARRY

And I know very little about you, just that your father and yourself don’t see eye to eye.

DRACO

(cups Harry’s cheek)

Be serious, mon chéri. You are in danger; you need to leave Paris. 

Harry covers Draco’s hand, leaning into his caress. It doesn’t matter that Blaise is there, that the room is silent, their drinks deflating, their silhouettes backlit by green. Harry only cares about Draco, about what this means. 

HARRY

No, love. We need to leave Paris.

DRACO 

Of course, we need to leave Paris. 

HARRY

(clutching Draco’s hand)

The train from Marseille leaves tomorrow at five, we can leave at four-thirty. 

DRACO I have a few errands to do in the city first, I’ll meet you at the station.

HARRY

All right—

They all pick up their drinks again, lifting them up.

—To a quarter to five.

Harry laughs suddenly, into his champagne. Draco smiles in return, until Harry begins to speak, green eyes lit up. 

HARRY

Why don’t we get married in Marseille?

He’s picturing it now; Draco in flowing white, an archway of roses, some champagne, and anyone they pick up along the way. 

DRACO

(Evasively)

That’s too far ahead to think about.

HARRY

Come on, Blaise can officiate. He’s a very religious man, aren’t you Blaise?

Blaise holds up his champagne as if agreeing, but the smirk pulling back his lips says otherwise. The fact that he’s a professional in playing the devil's music agrees. 

There’s a playful hope in Harry’s eyes, but Draco’s pale brows are furrowed. 

DRACO

Harry, I—

His voice breaks, and he turns away. Another spell is cast outside the city, this one a red burst of light that streaks the sky. Harry shakes his head, a woman’s scream fading away. 

HARRY

Hey, Draco, what’s wrong?

Before Harry can turn him, Draco turns himself, eyes hardened. 

DRACO

I love you so much, and I hate this war so much. It makes it feel as if something bad is always waiting around the corner.

HARRY

And something probably is, but we have each other. You have me. I won’t let anything happen to you.

DRACO

You can’t always protect me, if something were to happen, you need to know that I—

He stumbles on it slightly, trying to contain his warbling voice.

—or if something keeps us apart, wherever I end up, that… 

Harry brushes his lips, kissing him gently. He knows what Draco is saying, even if he can’t finish. He wants to believe he knows. Draco clutches the back of Harry’s neck, and deepens the kiss, tangling his fingers in Harry’s dark curls. In the absence of dark, everything is golden, the final hour of sunlight streaming into the café. Draco’s hair, which Harry lets fall through his fingers, light glinting off their champagne, the golden curlicues of the chairs and the fittings of the chandelier. And then there’s the silver ache of Draco’s heart, turning the kiss as passionate as if it were the last time, wordless in its desire. 

##### INT. GARE DE LYON – 1941 – NIGHT 

It is difficult enough to secure a Portkey for one, let alone for three, and even more so when one of you is wanted by German and British Aurors alike. They could have Apparated, if only they knew where they were going. If the Muggles got one thing right, it’s how to leave yourself behind in one city, and go forth with no destination in mind, simply a jumbled up haze of ideas and dreams. 

The last train for Marseille is about to leave, and Paris is sobbing. The rain comes down in steady rivulets, a stream of expletives on the German soldiers, coating the streets and the station platform in “I love you” and “come back soon.” 

The rain pours over Harry, his head and shoulders already drenched, his trench coat will only last for another minute or so. It’s too suspicious around Muggles to be protected by an Impervius, but even so, there’s something that seems subconsciously poetic about feeling this last Parisian rain. Other wizards feel it, even if Harry doesn’t, that their bones are preparing for a draught. Yet our main character barely notices that he’s being rained on. He flicks his wrist to cast a hidden, non-verbal Tempus, and looks around the station nervously. 

Blaise appears through the sheets of rain, dark green umbrella propped up against his shoulder, suit somehow remaining impeccable, despite the flecks of water on the cuffs and trouser legs. 

HARRY

Have you seen him? Do you know where he is?

BLAISE

No, I can’t find him. He’s checked out of the hotel.

He reaches into his suit and pulls out a cream coloured envelope. Harry recognizes the Malfoy insignia on the wax seal. His heart drops with the rain. 

BLAISE (cont)

But this letter came just after you left.

Harry opens it with shaking hands. 

_Harry,_

_I cannot go with you, and for your own sake, I hope we never see each other again. Just believe that I love you. Go mon chéri, and do not look back._

_Draco_

The rain streams into Harry’s eyes, and it’s all the better, because he can pretend he’s not crying. The ink of the letter begins to run down the paper, on and on, until Harry can barely read the signature. 

A whistle blows, the last call, and Blaise takes a stunned, reluctant Harry by the shoulder, steering him towards the doors. 

BLAISE

Come on Harry, we need to get on this train.

From the steps of the train, Harry leans out. He looks at the letter one last time, illegible now, crumples it up, and tosses it away. Blaise’s eyes follow it, mouth twisted into a grim line. 

BLAISE

Just forget about him mate, he obviously wasn’t worth it.

As the train begins to pick up speed, the smoke and rain obscure them from view. “Go mon chéri,” the rain says, “and do not look back.” 


	2. ACT 2

##### INT. HARRY’S CAFÉ – NIGHT 

It’s almost as dark inside the café as it is outside, space only defined by the large white arches through the various hallways. Harry sits at a table with an empty glass. He reaches for it, but knocks it over, his brain sluggish. Blaise walks over and picks it up, piercing Harry with a knowing stare. 

HARRY

Don’t look at me like that.

BLAISE

You’re better than this Harry.

HARRY

I’m not, I’m nothing.

Blaise sets the glass in front of him, his hand lingering on it, finger tracing the rim. Suddenly a single beam of light illuminates the bar. They both turn, and it’s Draco. He’s wearing white, of course he is. High waisted black slacks, and a white shirt that falls seductively around him. Blaise moves back and shrugs. 

BLAISE

I suppose you’re right.

Throwing his jacket over his shoulder, Blaise strides out the door, lingering for one moment to look Draco in the eye. Blaise is taller, and his brown eyes are narrow, glinting. Draco meets his gaze evenly with a grim determination, eyes steel. 

BLAISE

(sneering)

He’s all yours.

The light dissolves as Blaise shuts the door behind him, and Draco steps tentatively farther into the dim. 

DRACO

Harry, I have to talk to you.

Harry’s glasses are skewed, his suit jacket open, tie loose. His hair is a mess, his heart is a mess. The bar looks different in the dark, each bottle of alcohol a source of light, sparkling off the glass, catching the chandelier, the windows. 

HARRY

Oh, I saved my first drink for you. 

DRACO

No. No, Harry. Not tonight. 

HARRY

(bluntly)

Especially tonight.

He reaches for the bottle and pours himself another drink, his face impassive. Draco is searching for something there, but he’s not finding it. 

DRACO

Please.

HARRY

Why did you have to come to Casablanca? You could have gone anywhere.

DRACO

Believe me, I wouldn’t have come if I had known you were here.

HARRY

It’s funny, really. Your voice hasn’t changed, I can still hear it back then. “Harry mon cher, I’ll follow you anywhere. Let’s get on a train and never stop.”

DRACO

Firstly, I never said that. Secondly, don’t do this. I know how you feel, but—

HARRY

Oh, you do? You know how I feel? How long was it that we had, _darling_?

DRACO

I didn’t count the days.

HARRY

(Laughs grimly)

Well I did, I counted every single one. But mostly I remember the last one. A man standing in the rain with a look like his heart has just shattered into a million pieces.

He takes a drink, enjoying the company of the burn. Draco looks disgusted, his nose wrinkled, and Harry has to laugh again, that this prick has shown up after all these years, it serves him right, really. 

DRACO

I’m going to tell you a story. It’s about a boy who grew up in Paris, and at a friend’s house, meets a man who he’s dreamed of his whole life, a very great and courageous man. But who has been running for what seemed his entire life. When he ended up running into the boy’s arms, it felt like he belonged there, and the boy supposed that was love. 

HARRY 

Very pretty Draco, I thought I loved you too. I guess we were both wrong. Tell me… 

Harry has seen Draco fall apart many times, either under his hand, or over spilled wine, and he can see it in his face now, what the wrong words might do to him. 

HARRY (cont.)

…Who did you leave me for? Was it Krum, or were there others in between? Or are you not the kind to tell?

He sees it in Draco’s face, and they both know, that this conversation is over. The next words are spat out like cherry pits.

DRACO

That’s rich, Potter.

He stands up, and Harry is mesmerized by the way his shirt falls. He’s envious of the silk, wishes he could be that close to Draco’s skin again, even if for only a moment. Remembers the times he’s run his hand over that pale chest, from the first time to the last. He slumps forward, head on the table, and revels in the complete darkness, the thoughts in his mind sloshing together like the whiskey over his glass: Draco’s razor sharp wit, how he was always able to wind Harry up, but how Harry loved it that way. 

Draco walked out on him; he has to remember that. He doesn’t do feelings; he doesn’t do relationships. He doesn’t think about the future, because he doesn’t feel like there is one. He’s never been able to see it, a future where he exists, and he can’t remember how long it’s been like that. He just knows it’s always been there, a black nothingness where he should be seeing himself five, ten years from now. 

Although this isn’t quite true, because there have been exactly three times in his life where he’s seen the future. When he first got his letter to Hogwarts, and for a few years after that, he went rabid with the taste of it. Rolling the future around his mouth like a sherbet lemon, it tasted foreign but sweet, something he’d never been allowed to have. He liked the way it melted against his tongue, went sticky in his pocket, a malleable future he could play with, something to look forward to. 

It was before he had even graduated that the future lost its glamour, when he realized there was nothing for him there. He became whole heartedly wrapped in the present, living his life from day to day. He would think about tomorrow, he would think about next week, maybe next month or next year, but never the future, and _never_ destiny. 

The future didn’t agree with his take on this, because he saw it once more, in broken glass and a wisp of smoke, a feeble woman in bottled glasses, whispering about marks of power. He came face to face with his own destiny, so of course he turned his back on it. 

He didn’t graduate, neither did Blaise, they just ran. 

It was a few years later when destiny walked into an apartment on Rue Azais, a precise sway in his hips, snark on his lips, and blond hair swept perfectly to the side. Draco pulled the future out of Harry slowly. It was the morning after, and he could picture waking up like that forever. It was their first dinner together, and Harry thought he wouldn’t mind a million more. Suddenly he could picture life with Draco, growing old together, something like happiness. He let Draco’s name roll off his tongue like a sherbet lemon, and the future tasted sweet again. 

As he closes his eyes against the painful headache coming on, his mouth tastes dry and like the bitter edge of alcohol. He barely remembers what sweetness tastes like, figures it was never his to know. 

##### INT. VANE’S OFFICE – NEXT MORNING

A sign on the door shimmers: Captain Vane, Prefect de Police, _Head Auror_. Inside, Strasser watches as Vane attends to some paperwork, chewing on her lip. Her desk clearly lacks personalisation; a tarnished silver desk lamp, a French Baccarat crystal paperweight, imbued with royal blue swirls, and a small box of chocolates.

STRASSER

I strongly suspect that Ugarte left the letters of transit with Mr. Potter. I would suggest you search the café immediately and thoroughly. 

VANE

If Harry has the letters, he’s much too smart to let you find them there. 

STRASSER

You give him credit for too much cleverness. 

VANE

And I believe you underestimate him too much. 

Strasser looks at him coldly, hand twitching for the wand fastened into his uniform. He hates having to put on airs for muggles, hates how casually Vane is able to interact with them when acting as Chief of Police. 

STRASSER

As for Krum, we want him watched twenty-four hours a day. He is a quick man, do not let him give your men the slip.

VANE

(reassuringly)

It may interest you that at this very moment he is on his way here.

This does not interest Strasser at all, nor is it reassuring. Vane, on the other hand, is quite confident in McLaggen. The man is an arse, but he’s ruthlessly competent, and not too bad to look at either. 

##### INT. PREFECTURE LOBBY – MORNING

Viktor and Draco make their way through the jam of the prefecture lobby, Viktor in his staple medium grey suit and deep red tie. Draco holds Viktor’s arm loosely, a sun hat shielding his pointed face. He’s wearing a loose white shirt today, tucked into high waisted white pants with flared legs; it hides his wand better than the silk he favours.

As they pass a couple talking to a police officer, his grey eyes narrow, and he nudges Viktor in the side. 

Two Aurors are ushering a man through a shimmering wall. They follow casually, swallowed up by the glamour and into the Bureau de la Justice Magique. 

##### INT. VANE’S OFFICE – MORNING

Viktor and Draco enter Vane’s office. He bows to them, and Draco has to resist rolling his eyes. They both sense the darkness in the room immediately, and Viktor snakes his arm around Draco’s waist, holding him closer. Strasser stands there, motionless.

VANE

I am delighted to see you both. Did you have a good night’s rest?

VIKTOR

I slept very vell.

VANE

That’s strange. Nobody is supposed to sleep well in Casablanca.

DRACO

(icily)

I slept terribly.

Viktor squeezes his waist.

VIKTOR

May ve proceed vith business?

VANE

With pleasure. Won’t you sit down?

VIKTOR 

Thank you. 

They take their seats, Draco taking off his sun hat with a flourish, allowing his blond hair to fall loosely around his ears. He stares coldly at Vane, not bothering to hide his distaste. Draco can sweet talk with the best of them of course, but he doesn’t like to. 

STRASSER

(now as cold as Draco)

Very well, Herr Krum, we will not mince words. You are an escaped prisoner of the Reich and are embroiled in crimes against fellow wizards. 

DRACO

(under his breath)

You mean Nazis.

STRASSER

So far you have been fortunate enough in eluding us. You have reached Casablanca. It is my duty to see that you stay in Casablanca.

VIKTOR

Vhether or not you succeed is, of course, problematical.

STRASSER

Not at all. Only someone with necessary clearance will be able to hold an amulet of passage without severe repercussions. Not to mention, you would need Captain Vane’s signature.

(turning to Vane) 

Captain, would you think it is possible that Herr Krum and Herr Malfoy receive a visa?

VANE

I am afraid not. My regrets, Monsieurs.

VIKTOR

Is this all you vant to tell us?

STRASSER

Don’t be in such a hurry. You have all the time in the world. You may be in Casablanca indefinitely… or you may leave for Lisbon tomorrow, on one condition.

VIKTOR

And that is?

STRASSER

You know the leaders of the underground movement in Paris, in Prague, in Brussels, in Amsterdam, in Oslo, in Belgrade, in Athens.

(he pauses, as if letting them consider his offer)

And, you know who the Chosen One is.

Draco keeps his face impassive, or at least, he hopes he does. He can feel the back of his neck prickling, and he clutches at the brim of his hat in his lap. He knows they’re here for Viktor, but a strange sort of contempt bristles with how they’re ignoring him, mixed with worry.

Worry for himself and Viktor, but worry for Harry. He tries not to remember how dejected the man had looked last night, tries to keep up a wall of anger around his heart, but there’s pity there, and maybe a bit of something else. 

VIKTOR

Oh, do ve?

STRASSER

Yes, you do. If you will furnish me with their names and exact whereabouts, or just the details on the Chosen One, you will have your visa and amulet in the morning.

(He raises an eyebrow at their icy faces)

As well as the honour of having served your fellow wizards.

VIKTOR

I vos in a German concentration camp for a year. That’s honour enough for a lifetime.

STRASSER

You will give us the name?

VIKTOR

If I didn’t give them to you in a concentration camp vhere you had more “persuasive methods” at your disposal, I certainly von’t give them to you now.

The passionate conviction in his voice now reveals the crusader. Draco stops glaring at Strasser for a moment to turn to Viktor, and for the first time since they’ve arrived, he admires the resolve in his curved jaw, his heavy set eyebrows, and brown eyes that have turned hard. Draco feels a sort of heroism unfold in his chest watching him.

DRACO

And what if you track down these people and kill them? What if you murdered all of us? From every corner of Europe, hundreds, thousands, would rise to take our places. Even Dark Wizards can’t kill that fast.

STRASSER

Draco Malfoy, Viktor Krum, you both have a reputation for eloquence which I can now understand. But in one respect you are mistaken. You said that the enemies of the Reich could all be replaced, but there is one exception. No one could take your place in the event anything unfortunate should occur while you were trying to escape. It would be most disheartening for the underground to lose their leader during these times.

VIKTOR

You are wrong. The Chosen One.

Strasser’s cheeks hollow, and his eyes flash, dark and villainous. 

DRACO

You won’t dare to interfere with us here. This is still unoccupied France. Any violation of neutrality would reflect on Captain Vane.

VANE

This reminds me, Monsieurs, last night you evinced an interest in Signor Ugarte.

Draco leans forward, it was his job to track down Ugarte.

DRACO

Yes, what of him? 

VANE

I believe you have a message for him?

DRACO

Nothing important, but may we speak to him now?

STRASSER

You would find the conversation a trifle one-sided. Signor Ugarte is dead.

Both Draco and Viktor attempt to conceal their disappointment, Strasser watching them closely. 

DRACO

(softly)

Oh. 

Vane holds out a report, her mouth twisted in mock concern. 

VANE

I am making out the report now. We haven’t quite decided whether he committed suicide or died trying to escape.

VIKTOR

Are you quite finished with us?

STRASSER

For the time being.

VIKTOR

Good day.

Vane waves her wand and the door is opened for them. As Draco and Viktor leave, an unassuming Auror comes in.

VANE

(to Strasser)

Undoubtedly their next step will be to the black market.

##### EXT. WIZARDING BLACK MARKET – DAY 

The black market is a cluttered street of bazaars, shops, and stalls, tucked off a side street of the muggle black market. It is only accessible by passing under the tattered curtain of an old, withered woman’s stall, and the magically concealed market climbs high, contrarily sunny and bright. All kinds and ethnicities of people mill about the merchandise, a babble of different languages ring out across the crowd, as people browse the lower levels on foot, magic carpets flitting above to take people to higher shops. Looking down the street, mythical animals sit perched in cages, and the occasional spark of magic flashes. 

Both men and women are dressed in tropical robes, the awnings of their stalls giving them some protection from the chaos of sunlight and merchandise above.

A French wizard and a native Moroccan witch huddle together and talk in low tones, people moving about paying them no mind. 

WITCH

I’m sorry, Monsieur, we would have to handle the police. This is a job for Monsieur Burke.

FRENCH WIZARD

Burke?

WITCH

It can be most helpful to know Monsieur Burke. He near has a monopoly on the black market here. You will find him over there at the Golden Niffler.

FRENCH WIZARD

Thank you.

Outside the Golden Niffler, a group of golden snidgets are sitting on a perch, singing pleasantly. Often people will walk past and end up entering, allured by the shiny gold feathers and happy chirping. 

##### INT. THE GOLDEN NIFFLER – DAY 

The café is much less pretentious than Harry’s, but still well populated, vines and ferns sticking out of the wooden checkered walls, red and beige tiles covering the floor, and black chairs with curling patterns sitting around circular tables. The waiters are dressed in simple clothing, just shirts and slacks, and perched on each of their shoulders is a Niffler, who take tips from the guests. 

Harry enters, a grim look on his face. When Burke spots him, his grin splits wide open. 

BURKE

Good morning, Harry!

HARRY

Burke… Good morning.

BURKE

Come to have a drink with me?

HARRY

I never drink in the morning, and you’re the one who called me here. If it’s not important I’ll walk right back out—

BURKE

(frantically)

No, no, I did want to talk, I did. Sit down, my boy.

(he hails a waiter)

The bourbon.

(to Harry, sighing deeply)

The news about Ugarte upset me very much.

Harry nearly laughs at the audacity.

HARRY

You’re a disgusting hypocrite. You don’t feel any sorrier for Ugarte than anyone else.

BURKE

Of course not. What upsets me is the fact that Ugarte is dead and no one knows where that amulet is.

HARRY

Practically no one.

BURKE

If I could lay my hands on that amulet, I could make a fortune.

HARRY

So could I. And I’m a poor businessman.

BURKE

I have a proposition for whoever has that amulet and those letters. I will handle the entire transaction, get rid of them, take all the risk, for a small percentage.

HARRY

Any carrying chargers?

BURKE

Naturally there will be a few incidental expenses. That is the proposition for whoever has that amulet.

HARRY

(dryly)

I’ll tell them when they come in.

BURKE

Harry, I’ll put my cards on the table. I think you know where that amulet is.

HARRY

Well, you’re in good company. Vane and Strasser probably think so, too.

Harry looks out of the window and sees Draco at the potion’s bazaar, then Viktor walking toward the Niffler. 

HARRY

I’m sure they’re ransacking my place as we speak. 

BURKE

Harry, don’t be a fool. Take me into your confidence. You obviously need a partner.

HARRY

Thank you, but I already have a partner, his name is Blaise.

BURKE

(laughing)

Your piano player? Surely—

As Viktor walks in the door, Harry leans across the table and grabs Burke’s collar. The man pales, feeling the temperature around them change. 

HARRY

Shut the fuck up, Burke, you fucking piece of shit. Blaise is my best mate, the type of partnership you can’t buy.

BURKE

Now Harry, don’t be irrational—

Harry lets Burke go, pushing back his chair and standing up. 

HARRY

I am plenty rational Burke, and this is what will happen—

(he flicks his hand, and the glass of bourbon in Burke’s trembling hand shatters into pieces)

—If you talk shit about Blaise again.

Harry gets up, as Burke frantically scrabbles for his wand to spell away the golden liquid that is pooling in his lap. 

HARRY

Excuse me, I left Blaise in charge, and although he’s perfectly capable, I should be getting back.

Viktor and Harry pass each other in the middle of the room. He stops and addresses Harry politely, although his eyes are knowing. 

VIKTOR

Good morning.

Harry doesn’t acknowledge the greeting, just motions over his shoulder, and walks out.

HARRY

Burke is the greasy gent with the gold teeth.

##### EXT. BLACK MARKET – DAY 

At the linen stall, Draco examines potion making tools which a vendor with flowing navy-blue robes is endeavoring to sell. A fine set of enchanted gold scales, perfect for the most meticulous potions master. 

VENDOR

You will not find a treasure like this in all of Morocco, Monsieur. Only seven hundred francs.

Harry walks up behind Draco, his hair ruffled. He takes in Draco’s figure, the sunhat and shirt, belt tied snugly, accentuating his waist. He looks like he’s come straight from a vintage fashion magazine. 

HARRY

You’re being cheated.

Draco looks briefly at Harry, then turns away, placing down what he had just been examining. His manner is politely formal.

DRACO

It doesn’t matter, thank you.

VENDOR

Ah, this gentleman is a friend of Harry’s? For friends of Harry we have a small discount. Did I say seven hundred francs? You can have it for two hundred.

Reaching under the counter, he takes out a sign reading “200 francs,” and replaces the other. 

HARRY

I’m, er, sorry about last night. I was in no condition to receive you.

DRACO

It doesn’t matter.

VENDOR

Ah, well for special friends of Harry’s we have a special discount. One hundred francs.

He again replaces the sign with a new one, the faded golden accents on his robes still somehow managing to sparkle slightly in the sun. 

HARRY

To be fair, your story made me a little confused. Although, maybe it was the bourbon.

VENDOR

I have some cauldrons, for friends of Harry’s very rare ingredients—

DRACO

—Thank you. I’m really not interested.

VENDOR

Please, one minute.

He exits hurriedly to retrieve other products, shuffling through the stall. Draco pretends to examine the goods on the counter, Harry standing just behind him suddenly seems more intimate now, despite there still being crowds of people headed through the market. 

HARRY

Why did you come back? To tell me why you ran out on me at the railway station?

DRACO

Yes.

HARRY

Well, you can tell me now. I’m reasonably sober.

DRACO

I don’t think I will, Harry.

HARRY

Why not? After all, I got stuck with a railway ticket. I think I’m entitled to know.

DRACO

Last night, I saw what happened to you. The Harry I knew in Paris, I could tell him. He’d understand. But the one who looked at me with such hatred… Well, I’ll be leaving Casablanca soon and we’ll never see each other again. We knew very little about each other when we were in love in Paris. If we leave it that way, maybe we’ll remember those days and not Casablanca.

He says the last part snidely, the corner of his lip turning. 

HARRY

You knew enough. Did you run out on me because you couldn’t take it? Because you knew what it would be like, hiding from Dark Wizards, running away all the time?

DRACO

You can believe that if you want to.

HARRY

Well, I’m not running away anymore. I’m settled now, above the café, which, true, might not be the most, er, respectable but… walk up a flight. I’ll be expecting you.

Draco turns away, eyes flashing in annoyance. 

HARRY

All the same, someday you’ll lie to Krum. You’ll be there.

DRACO

(coldly)

No, Harry. No, _you_ see, Viktor Krum is my husband… and was, even when I knew you in Paris.

He walks away into The Golden Niffler as Harry watches on in stunned disbelief. 

##### INT. THE GOLDEN NIFFLER – DAY 

Draco and Viktor sit with Burke, who still seems agitated from the run in with Harry. 

BURKE

I was just telling Monsieur Krum that, unfortunately, I am not able to help him.

DRACO

Is that so?

VIKTOR

You see, vord has gone around.

BURKE

(to Draco)

As leader of all illegal activities in Casablanca, I am an influential and respected man. It would not be worth my life to do anything for Monsieur Krum. You, however, are a different matter.

VIKTOR

Monsieur Burke thinks it might just be possible to get an exit visa for you.

BURKE

And only alone.

VIKTOR

I vill stay here and keep on trying. I’m sure in a little vhile—

BURKE

—We might as well be frank, Monsieur. It will take a miracle to get you out of Casablanca. And the Germans have outlawed miracles.

DRACO

We are only interested in two visas.

VIKTOR

Please, Draco, don’t be hasty.

DRACO

No, Viktor, no, don’t treat me like some hapless husband. I’m not leaving without you.

BURKE

I will let you two discuss this privately, but think about my offer. 

He gets up, and Viktor turns to Draco passionately. 

VIKTOR

No, Draco, I von’t let you stay here. You must get to America. And believe me, somehow, I vill get out and join you.

DRACO

No, Viktor, you listen to me. If the situation were different, if I had to stay and there was only a visa for one, would you take it?

VIKTOR

(not very convincingly)

Yes, I vould.

Draco smirks faintly, he doesn’t believe it for even a moment. 

DRACO

I see. When I had trouble getting out of Lille, why didn’t you leave me there? And when I was sick in Marseille and held you up for two weeks and you were in danger every minute of the time, why didn’t you leave me then?

VIKTOR

I meant to, but something always held me up. I love you very much, Draco.

This time his smirk is more of a grimace. 

DRACO

Your secret is safe with me. Burke is waiting for our answer.

Draco and Viktor walk up to him. 

VIKTOR

Ve’ve decided, Monsieur Burke. For the present ve’ll go on looking for two exit visas. Thank you very much.

BURKE

Well, good luck. But be careful. 

(a flick of his eyes in the direction of the bazaar)

You know you’re being shadowed?

Viktor glances in the direction of the bazaar. 

VIKTOR

Of course. It becomes an instinct.

Burke looks shrewdly at Draco.

BURKE

I observe that you in one respect are a very fortunate man, Monsieur. I am moved to make one more suggestion. Why, I don’t know, because it cannot possibly profit me, but, have you heard about Signor Ugarte and the amulet?

VIKTOR

Yes, something.

BURKE

The letters, and subsequently, the amulet, were not found on Ugarte when they arrested him.

There’s a moment’s pause as this sinks in.

VIKTOR

Do you know where they are?

BURKE

Not for sure, Monsieur, but I will venture to guess that Ugarte left those letters with Monsieur Harry.

Draco’s face darkens, Viktor quietly observing the reaction. 

VIKTOR

Harry?

BURKE

He is a difficult customer, that Harry. One never knows what he’ll do or why. But it is worth a chance.

VIKTOR

Thank you very much. Good day.

Draco says nothing to him, not wanting to ordain the man with a response, and they leave the café. The sun remains beating down in the black market, and Draco has to wonder how Harry plans on running away this time. 

##### INT. HARRY’S CAFÉ – MAIN ROOM – NIGHT 

Blaise and the lead singer, Corina, play a number. Her voice filling out the room, the piano accompanying her. 

Strasser and his crowd enter the café and pass Harry’s table. 

Carl brings Harry a bottle and glass. 

CARL

Monsieur Harry, you are getting to be your own best customer.

As Harry lights a cigarette, Yvonne walks up to the bar on the arm of a German officer. She smiles smugly at Harry, flicking her blond hair over her shoulder.

HARRY

So, Yvonne’s gone over to the side of the enemy…

At that moment, Captain Vane walks up next to him, inclining her head towards Yvonne. 

VANE

So, you aren’t as truly neutral as they say.

HARRY

That was some going-over your men gave my place this afternoon. We just barely got cleaned up in time to open.

He pours a drink for Vane. Blaise looks over him, and Harry nods. He can handle Captain Vane by himself. 

VANE

Well, I told Strasser he wouldn’t find the amulet here. But I told my Aurors to be especially destructive. You know that impresses the German Ministry?

(taking a sip)

Harry, have you got the amulet and letters of transit?

HARRY

Romilda, are you pro-Vichy or Free French?

VANE

Serves me right for asking a direct question. This subject is closed.

HARRY

Why are you even here?

VANE

Strasser doesn’t trust that the case is closed.

HARRY

Sure he doesn’t.

VANE

In fact, I think it’s time I go flatter him a little.

Harry lifts his glass and watches her walk off, his magic rising at the sight of Major Strasser. He downs his drink, letting it fade to a dull pulsing, power subdued under liquor. 

Vane sits down with Strasser, who is watching her closely.

STRASSER

Captain Vane, are you entirely certain which side you’re on?

VANE

I have no conviction, if that’s what you mean. I blow with the wind, and the prevailing wind happens to be from the German ministry.

STRASSER

And if it should change?

She smiles, lamplight from the fancy shade on their table highlighting her face from the side, the dark slant of her eyes, her cupid’s bow accentuated by wine red lip tint. It makes her grin all the more devilish. 

VANE

Surely the Reich doesn’t admit that possibility?

Strasser leans back in his chair, pulling off his leather gloves to pick up a glass of champagne. 

STRASSER

We are concerned about more than Casablanca. We know that every French province in Africa is honeycombed with traitors waiting for their chance, waiting, perhaps, for a leader.

VANE

(casually)

A leader, like Krum?

STRASSER

Perhaps Krum, or perhaps, the Chosen One?

Her eyes narrow.

VANE

Surely you don’t know who—

STRASSER

Of course not. No one does, but I believe that Draco Malfoy is more than just a beautiful face to hang off the arm of our hero.

VANE

What do you propose?

STRASSER

I have been thinking. It is too dangerous if we let Krum go, but it may be too dangerous if we let him stay.

VANE

(thoughtfully)

I see what you mean.

Meanwhile, Harry checks the reservation list, finger trailing down the parchment. In the background, Blaise is playing something original, it’s fast and lively, dancing with the subtle art of scratching ink on parchment. Harry gets to the bottom of the page, Draco’s name glaring at him in Carl’s clipped handwriting. He sighs, checking the time. They should be here now. Harry turns around, and sees the doors opening for Viktor and Draco.

HARRY

Good evening.

VIKTOR

Good evening. You see, here ve are again.

HARRY

I take that as a great compliment to Blaise.

(to Draco)

I suppose he means Paris to you, and er, happier days.

Viktor looks around.

DRACO

(quietly)

He does. Could we have a table close to him?

VIKTOR

As far avay from Major Strasser as possible.

HARRY

Well, the geography may be a little difficult to arrange.

Harry snaps his fingers and a glowing light appears, a shameless display of wandless magic. Draco locks eyes with Harry, saying nothing, but he doesn’t need to. 

HARRY

Table thirty, please.

The light blinks once in response, and then begins to weave slowly through the café. 

HARRY

(to Draco)

I’ll have Blaise play your favourite.

Harry walks over to Blaise and whispers into his ear, who stops what he’s playing and looks over at Draco, shaking his head, but he pulls on his cuffs anyway, beginning to play. 

BLAISE

You’re getting cocky, Harry.

HARRY

Am not, I’m just helping my guests.

BLAISE

Well, I hope you know what you’re doing. 

Harry smiles, the sort of smile that tells Blaise that Harry thinks he knows what he’s doing, but deep down has no idea at all.

HARRY

I worry about you sometimes mate; you’re too wound up for your own good.

Blaise scoffs, a haughty and indignant thing, as Harry strides towards the gambling room. 

At the door, Pansy is leaning around the frame, watching Viktor and Draco walk to their table.

ABDUL

She won’t go back inside.

HARRY

Pansy, what are you doing?

She smirks, flicking back her hair, her dangling silver snake earrings dazzling, their eyes tiny black stones. 

PANSY

(conspiratorially)

Who were those two men?

HARRY

Viktor Krum and Draco Malfoy. 

Pansy’s eyebrows shoot up, and she stands on her tiptoes, wobbling precariously in her high heels, which Harry eyes warily. He wouldn’t be surprised if she were skilled in whipping them off and stabbing people’s eyes out. 

HARRY

Know them?

Pansy shrieks, pulling Harry into the gambling room. Abdul smiles sheepishly as Harry stumbles through, and he finds himself shoved into a seat with all of Pansy’s socialite friends, a mixture of wide, fawning eyes, and carefully concealed interest. 

Pansy leans in, absolutely delighted. 

PANSY

Guess who just walked in? _Draco sodding Malfoy._ And he’s with _Viktor Krum._

WIX

Draco Malfoy? Ze Draco Malfoy?

PANSY

The Draco Malfoy. Socialite fall from grace Beauxbatons Draco Malfoy.

WIZARD

And he’s with Viktor Krum? The Viktor Krum?

PANSY

The Viktor Krum. Ex-Quidditch player rebel leader Dark Arts expert Viktor Krum.

WIZARD

Why are they together?

Pansy angles herself towards Harry, draping a pale hand over his arm, long black nails plucking at the material of his suit. 

PANSY

Yes, Harry, why are they together?

HARRY

How should I know?

PANSY

Blaise has ears all over Casablanca, and everyone knows he tells you everything.

Harry just shrugs awkwardly. The only alternative to sitting here is going back out and having to see Draco, his sparkling grey eyes turned towards Viktor, voice low, for his husband, and Harry’s not sure he can take it, not tonight. 

HARRY

Maybe they’re together.

Pansy laughs, high and cackling.

PANSY

Them? Together? Draco couldn’t possibly—No—That’s not—Draco wouldn’t be with _Viktor Krum_.

Harry raises an eyebrow. He didn’t realize that anyone cared about Draco’s relationship status. When they had been together in Paris, his friends had been a little vapid, but overall interesting people, and he had seemed well liked and well to-do. Harry hadn’t even realized he was a “socialite,” or that people cared about him outside his little circle.

HARRY

Why wouldn’t he?

One of Pansy’s friends begins snickering behind a gloved hand, which Harry quells with a crackling glare. 

PANSY

Well, he’s just a bit—

(she waves her hand absentmindedly)

Too much baggage and work, if you ask me. Not worth the hassle.

HARRY

And you are?

PANSY

Oh darling, of course I’m worth it.

WIZARD

His father was a known supporter of the Dark Lord back in the day, went a bit mad with it, always thinking he would come back.

WIX

Which is obviously impossible, because—

PANSY

Yes, thank you, everyone knows the story. The most famous dark wizard of all time, who terrorized half the globe, defeated by an infant—

WIX

—The Chosen One.

WIZARD

Malfoy’s father was obsessed, couldn’t believe the man was really dead.

HARRY

(darkly)

Of course he was dead. 

PANSY

Well obviously, darling, we all know that, but Lucius was always showing up at parties and ruining them with his theories about how to honour the Dark Lord. 

HARRY

What does this have to do with Viktor and Draco, people change, don’t they? 

PANSY

(nodding solemnly)

Of course, of course. It’s just surprising, with Draco’s _history_. 

HARRY

Get to the bloody point Pansy.

WITCH

Well—

PANSY

He had Draco try and sacrifice one of his classmates to bring back the Dark Lord!

She nearly squeals at the end, gleeful in telling Harry something he hadn’t known. They all look at him expectantly, as if he should be tittering along, asking for more. Instead, he shoves his chair back, scar throbbing across his eye. Pansy reaches out, as if to make him stay, but something about the air around them has changed, and she flinches back. 

HARRY

Thank you for the chat, but I have a club to run.

Harry pushes past the witch about to enter the back room, and she huffs, turning up her nose. He doesn’t stop to apologize, storming towards the stairs that lead to his apartment. He walks behind all the white arches and lattice dividers, their diamond patterns flickering over him, lamplight from the guest tables. 

Before he can reach the stairs, Viktor stops him, eyes dark and serious. 

VIKTOR

Monsieur Potter, I vonder if I could talk to you?

Harry doesn’t want to talk, he wants to argue, to yell and reduce the café to rubble. 

HARRY

Go ahead.

VIKTOR

Vell, isn’t there some other place? It’s rather confidential, vot I have to say.

The stairs beckon to him, the promise of his private bourbon and the ability to let his magic explode out of him. He could get Blaise to help him clean up the pieces tomorrow morning, his Reparos have always been better. The vase that Carl bought him has fine lines running through it, from the amount of times he’s broken and reassembled it, his shoddy penmanship visible in the wreckage.

He’ll spare Carl’s vase tonight. 

HARRY

My office.

##### INT. HARRY’S CAFÉ – OFFICE – NIGHT 

Harry pulls out the bourbon, offers some to Viktor, who politely declines. He lets the alcohol do its magic, duelling the magical ache in his bloodstream. _It’s okay, you’re okay, you don’t need to fight, you don’t need to run._ Slowly, the urge to burn his life down dissipates. 

VIKTOR

You must know it’s very important I get out of Casablanca. It’s my privilege to be one of the leaders of a great movement. You know vot I have been doing. You know vot it means to the vork, to the lives of thousands and thousands of people that I be free to reach America and continue my vork.

HARRY

I’m not interested in politics, the problems of the world are not in my department. I run a magical night spot.

VIKTOR

My friends in the underground tell me that you have quite a record. You helped Blaise run sneak-o-scopes to Ethiopia, you dueled against Dark Wizards in Spain, and you ran avay from Hogwarts because they were getting funding from the fascists.

Harry’s eyes narrow.

HARRY

Did Draco tell you that?

VIKTOR

Perhaps. Isn’t it strange that you alvays happened to be fighting on the side of the underdog? 

HARRY

I suppose, it was quite an expensive hobby too, but I was never great at maths.

VIKTOR

Are you good enough to appreciate an offer of thirty thousand galleons?

HARRY

I appreciate it, but I don’t accept it.

VIKTOR

I’ll raise it to fifty thousand.

HARRY

My friend, you could make it a million galleons, or three, my answer would still be the same.

VIKTOR

There must be some reason vhy you von’t let me have it.

HARRY

There is. I suggest you ask your husband.

VIKTOR

I beg your pardon?

HARRY

I said, ask your husband.

VIKTOR

My husband?

Viktor looks at him, puzzled, until they both hear voices singing downstairs. Song trickling into Harry’s office. 

##### INT. HARRY’S CAFÉ – MAIN ROOM – NIGHT

A group of German Auroren stand around the piano, singing a national song of the Reich. Some have arms around each other, as they sway, and everyone else in the room just stares on uncomfortably. Blaise has had to give up his piano to some random German wizard, and he sits with Sacha, seething. He wouldn’t have let the bugger use it if it wasn’t for the fact that he could murder Blaise on the spot and get away with it.

Viktor and Harry stand on the balcony, watching the Germans below. Viktor’s lips are very tight as he listens to the song, and he begins to start down the steps. Harry almost reaches out to him, but he watches him march angrily up to the singers, passing the table where Draco sits and going straight to the orchestra. 

At the bar, Vane watches with raised eyebrows, Yvonne not far off, staring down into her drink, her German companion enjoying the singing obliviously. 

VIKTOR

Play the Marseillaise! Play it!

Members of the orchestra glance towards the steps, towards Harry, who nods to them.

At first only Viktor’s voice rings out, deep and with purpose, but then Corina gets up, harmonizes. Soon there are more, voices from within the café belting out the Marseillaise. Strasser conducts the German singing in an attempt to drown out the competition, but the French voices are growing, louder and louder.

Soon Strasser is forced to give up, himself and his officers sitting down dejectedly. However, the French singing continues, Pansy outside the gambling room, singing in a reedy voice. And then Yvonne is standing up and joining in, her voice one of the loudest among them. Vane watches all of this from the bar in amusement. 

Draco stares at Viktor, who is singing with passion, and feels his heart wrench slightly. Harry watches Draco watch Viktor and feels his scar ache. Now nearly the entire café is standing, singing at the top of their lungs, accents and loudness intermingling. Yvonne’s face is glowing, as the song finishes on a high note. _Vive La France, vive la démocratie_. 

Strasser marches over to the bar, his upper lip twitching, eyes furious. 

STRASSER

You see what I mean? If Krum’s presence in a café can inspire this unfortunate demonstration, what more will his presence in Casablanca bring on? I advise that this place be shut up at once.

VANE

(innocently)

But everybody’s having such a good time.

STRASSER

Yes, much too good a time. The place is to be closed.

VANE

But I have no excuse to close it.

STRASSER

(snapping)

Find one.

Vane looks over to where several of her French Aurors are surrounding Viktor, offering to buy him drinks. She ponders for a moment, then blows a loud blast on her whistle. The room grows quiet, all eyes turn toward her.

VANE

(loudly)

Everybody is to leave here immediately. This café is closed until further notice! Clear the room at once!

An angry murmur starts among the crowd. People get up and begin to leave.

Harry rushes quickly over to Vane, Blaise following close behind.

HARRY

How can you close me up? On what grounds?

VANE

I am shocked, shocked to find out there is magic being practiced in here! The Statute of Secrecy is completely at risk!

This display of nerve leaves Harry at a loss, as Captain Vane brings her wand to her mouth, and uses it to amplify her voice. 

VANE

Everybody out at once!

Blaise is spluttering about how Vane uses magic more than anyone, but it falls on deaf ears, as Aurors continue to herd people out of the café. 

As the café empties, Strasser approaches Draco. His manner is abrupt but cordial.

STRASSER

Monsieur, after this disturbance it is not safe for Krum to stay in Casablanca.

DRACO

This morning you implied it was not safe for him to leave Casablanca.

STRASSER

This is also true, except for one destination, to return to occupied France.

DRACO

Occupied France?

STRASSER

Indeed. Under a safe conduct from myself.

DRACO

(with intensity)

What value is that? You may recall what German guarantees have been worth in the past.

STRASSER

There are only two other alternatives for him.

DRACO

And what might those be?

STRASSER

It is possible the French authorities will find a reason to put him in the concentration camp here.

DRACO

And the other alternative?

STRASSER

My dear Monsieur, perhaps you have already observed that in Casablanca, human life is cheap. Good night, Monsieur.

He looks at him, understanding what he means, furious. Strasser bows and exits as Viktor arrives at the table. He watches Strasser walk away, and then offers Draco his arm. 

DRACO

What happened with Harry?

VIKTOR

Ve’ll discuss it later.

A black cab pulls up and Viktor opens the door for Draco. When they’re both in, it reverses back out into the night, tires screeching. 

The light of the café sign flickers once, twice, and then goes out.

##### INT. HOTEL ROOM – NIGHT 

Viktor switches on the light as they enter. Draco sits on the edge of the bed, taking off some of the statement rings he had been wearing, as Viktor walks to the window and peers out into the darkness. Below and across the street, a man stands under an arch. Viktor watches him, then draws down the shade.

VIKTOR

Our faithful friend is still there.

DRACO

Viktor, it might not be safe for you at the underground meeting tonight, or for me to go out.

VIKTOR

(soberly)

Ve must. Besides, it isn’t so often that a man has a chance to display heroics for his husband.

He crosses to a table, takes a cigarette from the box, and strikes a match.

DRACO

Don’t joke. After Major Strasser’s warning tonight, I’m frightened.

VIKTOR

To tell you the truth, I am frightened too. Shall ve remain in our hotel room hiding, or shall ve carry on the best ve can?

He lights the cigarette. 

DRACO

Whatever I’d say, you’d carry on. Viktor, why don’t you tell me about Harry? What did you find out?

VIKTOR

Apparently, he has the amulet.

DRACO

Yes?

VIKTOR

But no intention of selling it. One would think if sentiment vouldn’t persuade him, money could.

Draco takes off an intricate silver signet, face engraved with a single ghost orchid. He plays with it in one hand, the top sliding open to reveal a coiled serpent engraved in the chamber beneath; a snake in the grass. He focuses on the ring, avoiding Viktor’s gaze. 

DRACO

Did he give any reason?

VIKTOR

He suggested I ask you.

DRACO

Ask me?

VIKTOR

Yes. He said, “Ask your husband.” I don’t know vhy he said that.

Viktor turns off the light, and Draco walks over to the couch and sits down, watching Viktor at the window. In the dim, Viktor’s cigarette pulses with every breath, and Draco is stuck watching it, knowing that Viktor can feel his gaze on him. 

VIKTOR

Vell, our friend outside vill think ve’ve retired by now. I’ll go in a few minutes, and then no one vill be there and you can get out.

He sits down on the couch next to Draco, a silence falling between them. Draco looks away from the cigarette light, now distracted by the dim glow of a lamp at their bedside reflecting off his silver rings, which he continues to fiddle with. Open and shut, snake in the grass, open and shut. The silence grows strained, until finally… 

VIKTOR

Draco, I—

DRACO

—Yes?

VIKTOR

Vhen I vos in the concentration camp, vere you lonely in Paris?

Draco still doesn’t look at him, remaining focused on the ring, even as he speaks. It’s a family heirloom, passed through generations, given to Draco by his own father. Uniquely sleek silver, the shank swirling with the open face of ghost orchids, five black diamonds scattered through the design. 

DRACO

Yes, Viktor, I was.

VIKTOR

(sympathetically)

I know how it is to be lonely.

(very quietly)

Is there anything you vish to tell me?

DRACO

(voice low)

No, Viktor, there isn’t.

VIKTOR

I love you very much, my dear.

Finally, Draco slides the ring back onto his finger, closing the signet chamber, and looks at Viktor. 

DRACO

Yes, yes I know. Viktor, whatever I do, will you believe that I, that—

VIKTOR

—You don’t even have to say it. I’ll believe.

He leans over and kisses Draco’s cheek, and gets up from the couch, putting out his cigarette on the side table’s ashtray. It’s too dangerous to Apparate, wards placed all over their hotel to alert Strasser if they leave. Draco is surprised the man hasn’t stooped to tracking charms yet. 

DRACO

Goodnight.

He watches Viktor go, words rumbling in his chest, as Viktor begins to close the door. 

DRACO

Viktor!

Draco gets up hastily, opening the door. In the slit of light from the hall we see Draco’s face, strained and worried, pink lips thin, cheeks hollow, eyebrows pinched. Viktor stands there, waiting. 

DRACO

Be careful.

VIKTOR

Of course, you too.

He comes forward, leans around the door, and brushes a kiss to Draco’s forehead. Viktor is sparing in his intimacy, and these brief moments crackle across Draco’s skin. He stands there for a few more seconds, watching Viktor walk down the steps, and then walks to the window, peeking through the curtains. 

The figure in the archway is gone. He sees Viktor walking down the street, and he looks back once, quickly. Draco isn’t sure that he sees him, but he smiles, small and secret, until Viktor disappears from sight. Draco closes the blinds once more, pulling on a simple black cloak, and leaves the room, closing the door quietly behind him. 

##### INT. HARRY’S CAFÉ – MAIN ROOM – NIGHT 

Harry, Carl, and Blaise sit by the bar and look over the ledgers. Carl is busy figuring, until he looks up at both of them.

CARL

Well, you are in pretty good shape.

HARRY

How long can we afford to stay closed?

CARL

Oh, two weeks, maybe three.

BLAISE

Maybe we won’t have to. A bribe has worked before.

HARRY

Well, in the meantime, everybody stays on salary.

CARL

Oh, thank you. Sacha will be happy to hear it. I owe him money.

Carl laughs, deep and hearty, his round belly shaking like a German Santa Claus. 

HARRY

Now finish locking up, will you Carl?

CARL

I will. Then I am going to the meeting of the—

BLAISE

(interrupting)

—Don’t tell us where you’re going.

CARL

I won’t. Goodnight, Monsieur Harry, Monsieur Blaise.

Harry and Blaise walk up the stairs to their apartments quietly. On the landing, they stop and look at each other. Blaise looks sharper in the dim light, and Harry just looks more harrowed, the dark circles clear under his eyes. 

BLAISE

You should sleep, Harry.

HARRY

You’re not my mother, Blaise.

BLAISE

(sighing)

No, I’m not.

Blaise strides into his room, shutting the door forcefully. Harry is left standing alone on the platform, as if he’s waiting for Blaise to come back out, offer to play cards in Harry’s room, or sit by the fire and talk, but he doesn’t, and Harry turns away. 

##### INT. HARRY’S APARTMENT – NIGHT 

Harry opens the door and walks inside his dark room. Light from the hall reveals a figure by the window, blocked by shadow. He pulls out his wand, whispering a Lumos, and walks towards them, steps cautious. They seem tall, and as he moves, the figure turns. 

Draco’s face is white but determined as he steps away from the window, throwing back his black cloak hood.

HARRY

How did you get in?

DRACO

The stairs from the street.

He comes forward to meet him, and Harry regards him with surprise.

HARRY

I told you this morning you’d come around, but this is a little ahead of schedule. Uhm, won’t you sit down?

Draco doesn’t sit, and Harry awkwardly takes off his suit coat, draping it over the back of the couch and pulling off his bowtie. 

DRACO

I don’t remember you being so formal.

HARRY

It works for the aura of the club.

After an awkward beat, Draco steps forward. 

DRACO

Harry, I had to see you.

HARRY

Really? It’s almost like we’re back in Paris.

DRACO

Please.

HARRY

Your unexpected visit isn’t connected by any chance with the amulet of transit? It seems that as long as I have that amulet, I’ll never be lonely.

Draco’s eyes worry, and he feels a bit sickly knowing he’s ambushing Harry like this, but he’s probably the only person in Casablanca who could convince Harry to part with the amulet at this point.

DRACO

You can ask any price you want, but you must give me that amulet.

HARRY

I went through all that with your husband. It’s no deal.

DRACO

I know how you feel about me, but I’m asking you to put your feelings aside for something more important.

He pulls on a lock of hair frustratedly, and Harry almost feels bad, but the words that come out are scathing.

HARRY

Do I have to hear again what a great man your husband is? What an important cause he’s fighting for?

DRACO

It was your cause, too. It still is. You can’t run away from what you are, Harry.

HARRY

I’m not fighting for anything anymore, except myself… And Blaise. We’re the only cause I’m interested in.

He walks over to the window, and Draco follows.

DRACO

Harry, we loved each other once, if those days meant anything at all to you—

HARRY

(interrupting, harshly)

—I wouldn’t bring up Paris if I were you.

DRACO

Just listen to me, you bastard. If you knew what really happened, if you knew the truth—

HARRY

(cutting in again)

—I wouldn’t believe you, no matter what you told me. You’d say anything now to get what you want, and you’ve lied to me before.

Harry walks over to the table and opens a cigarette box but finds it empty. With nothing to dull the low ache that has begun to build up behind his forehead, he takes off his glasses, rubbing his temple.

DRACO

When did I ever lie?

HARRY

You lied by omission.

Draco is angry now, his face flushed. As Harry paces around the apartment, lighting the fire in the grate, Draco follows him, gesticulating wildly.

DRACO

We agreed to not ask questions, how is that lying? We agreed, Harry, or have you forgotten?

Harry whips around, his wand still out from lighting the fire, and Draco takes a step back nervously. The back of his legs knock into the coffee table, and Harry’s hand shoots out before he can stop himself, grabbing onto Draco’s wrist to stop him from falling. He pulls him up, and they stand there, nearly chest to chest. Harry lowers his arm, but remains holding onto Draco’s wrist, grip gentle but firm.

HARRY

(voice low)

You didn’t tell me about your father, you never even mentioned that—When I told you—You didn’t say anything.

When Draco replies his voice is small, quiet even though they’re standing so close.

DRACO

I told you that we were estranged.

HARRY

But that’s not even the half of it.

DRACO

I didn’t take you for a gossip, Harry.

HARRY

(through gritted teeth)

I’m not, but I thought you would have at least told me that you were related to someone who—someone who wanted—

He can’t even finish his sentence; his headache has moved on from a dull ache to an incessant pounding. Draco glowers, pulling his hand away to cross his arms protectively.

DRACO

I didn’t tell you that my father went mad? That he made me an accessory to murder? That he was part of the Death Eaters, and would have wanted you dead?

HARRY

I deserved to know.

DRACO

I didn’t owe you anything, Harry. We said no questions, and we kept it that way. You want to feel sorry for yourself, don’t you? With so much at stake, all you can think of is your own feelings. I hurt you, and now you’re taking out your revenge on the rest of the world. You think I wasn’t wracked with guilt about not telling you? That it didn’t keep me up at night, wondering if I should? But your parents are dead, and you can’t bring them back, you should honour their memory by—

All the while, Harry’s face has been darkening, his head nearly splitting open from pain, and finally, he can’t take it any longer.

HARRY

Honour them? You think saving your husband’s sorry arse is honouring them? You lost the right to speak about honour when you snuck in my room to try and convince me to give you that amulet.

As he speaks, his fingertips spark, blue light crackling outwards. Harry’s wand glows so brightly that Draco has to shield his eyes, and he moves backwards around the coffee table until he’s standing behind the couch.

HARRY

One of my parent’s best friends sold them over to the Dark Lord. Because of that rat, I grew up alone and abused until I was eleven, but you didn’t know that, did you? And every time I finally found something good in my life, it was taken away. My godfather was murdered, but you didn’t know that either.

Harry thumbs his own chest forcefully. The pictures on the mantle behind him have begun rattling, and the coffee table vibrates with a low frequency.

HARRY

He had been in Azkaban for years before his name was cleared, and right before we could move in together, one of Voldemort’s supporters killed him trying to get to me. I can’t join any more wars, Draco, I can’t help anyone anymore. I leave a trail of dead bodies wherever I go.

Everything around them has started to levitate, Harry’s hair is wild and struck through with electricity, magic welling up in his scar, lightning crackling around him.

DRACO

Harry, I’m sorry, I didn’t know.

HARRY

Because we said no questions, and look where it got us.

His eyes are blue, then green. They’re brimming over with magic. Draco’s heart is beating furiously as he pulls out his wand.

DRACO

(softly)

We could try again, you know. The right way.

Electric tears cling to Harry’s eyelashes.

HARRY

We had a chance, Draco.

Draco points his wand steadily at Harry, who barely seems to register that he’s being threatened.

DRACO

Harry, either you calm down, or you fight me. I’m sorry, but you are our last hope. If you don’t help us, Viktor Krum will die in Casablanca.

For a moment, Draco thinks it hasn’t worked, that Harry’s magic is about to shatter everything in the room, but then as if in a vortex, all the power is swiftly sucked out of the air. Harry stumbles forward, catching himself on the coffee table, which has now settled on the ground, and there’s a tinkling of glass breaking as one of the photos on the mantle falls to the ground.

Draco hurries around the couch, leaning down with Harry, and they slowly slide to the floor, Harry shivering in Draco’s arms.

HARRY

(quietly)

I’m going to die in Casablanca.

Draco slowly, tentatively, reaches a hand out, and runs it through Harry’s dark, unruly curls, as if they really are back in Paris, sitting languidly on a moonlit night. When Harry lets out a shaky breath, leaning into Draco’s touch, he takes it a step further, running a thumb along Harry’s scar. 

They sit there silently for a long moment, Harry letting his head rest on Draco’s chest, Draco stroking his hair. At first, it’s peaceful. They slowly stitch themselves back together, Harry’s breathing going back to normal, Draco’s heart rate slowing down. Then Harry pulls back, looks at Draco, brings a hand up to caress his cheek. 

DRACO

Harry, I tried to stay away. I thought I would never see you again, that you were out of my life.

Harry smiles sadly, and leans in, putting their foreheads together. He lets his hand fall from Draco’s cheek, settle on his neck, warm and comforting. He doesn’t often know what to say, but he can let himself be the weight that Draco needs, he wants to be the thing that Draco needs. 

HARRY

(whispering)

It’s okay.

DRACO

The day you left, if you knew what I went through. If you knew how much I loved you, how much I still love you.

Draco’s breath is warm on Harry’s cheek, and for a brief moment, he pulls back, looks into Draco’s eyes. There is a pause, a heartbeat, Draco’s lips part, eyelids fluttering, and then Harry’s hand on his neck turns guiding, pulling them together. Their lips brush once, twice, and then Draco is grabbing onto Harry’s shirt collar, pulling him forward. Harry puts his hands under Draco’s thighs, pulling him onto his lap. Draco straddles him, wrapping his arms around Harry, and kisses him passionately, as if he’s been waiting for this ever since that last time in La Belle Aurore. 

##### INT. HARRY’S APARTMENT – LATER 

From his window, Harry watches the revolving beacon light at the airport. Draco sits on the couch, a bottle of champagne and two half-filled glasses resting on the table before him. 

Finally, Harry walks over to him, sitting down. 

HARRY

And then?

DRACO

It wasn’t long after we were married that Viktor went back to Bulgaria. They needed him in Sofia, but there the Auroren were waiting for him. 

His air is casual, but the past is playing out behind his grey eyes. Harry can almost feel it, the urgency Draco must have felt, the fear. 

DRACO 

It was just a two-line item in the paper: “Viktor Krum apprehended. Sent to concentration camp.” I was frantic. For months I tried to get word. And then it came. A patronus, he was dead, splinched trying to escape. 

Draco takes a deep shuddering breath, as if the memory of grief is threatening to claw its way back up. Harry understands, outside the night is dark and still, but it could easily be raining, as hard as it was that day in Paris. There’s the whispering of it against the windows, an aching reminder. 

HARRY

Why weren’t you honest with me? Why did you keep your marriage a secret?

DRACO

It wasn’t my secret, Harry. Viktor wanted it that way. Not even our closest friends knew about our marriage. That was his way of protecting me. I know so much about his work, I’m _part_ of it. I brew potions for him, for the resistance, I’ve been working on certain inventions of my own for years. If the Auroren had found out I was his husband then it would be dangerous for me, for the people I work with. No one could know, no one can know.

HARRY

When did you first find out he was alive?

DRACO

Just before you and I were to leave Paris together, another patronus told me he was alive, they were hiding him in a freight car on the outskirts of Paris. He was sick, he needed me. I wanted to tell you, but I knew you wouldn’t have left Paris, and the Auroren would have caught you. So I... well, you know the rest. 

Harry watches him, the only sound in the room their twin breaths, two heartbeats. 

HARRY

But it’s still a story without an ending, what happens now?

The question hangs in the air like an open invitation, and Draco seems surprised. By what? Harry’s honesty? Or the fact he’s essentially standing there, tapping at the window, and asking for Draco to let him in? After all that happened between them, perhaps he didn’t think Harry would be so willing to entertain the idea. But Draco should know better than anyone, that when someone leaves you, that doesn’t necessarily mean you stop loving them. 

DRACO

Now? I don’t know. I never thought we would find each other. 

The pink tinge on his cheeks, the slight tilt of his head, the way his whole body is stilled as if waiting for Harry, says he’s telling the truth. 

HARRY

And Krum?

DRACO

You’ll try and help him now, won’t you? See that he gets out, then he’ll have his work, all he’s been living for. 

HARRY

And what about you?

Draco reaches for his glass of champagne, brings it shakily to his lips. 

DRACO

I left you once, I’m not sure I can do it again.

The weight of the statement settles around them, Draco’s skin looks irresistibly smooth in the dark, the lights on the walls giving his hair a metallic sheen. They lock eyes, and Harry does not turn away.

HARRY

I can’t imagine Viktor wanting to leave without you.

DRACO

He would if I asked.

HARRY

Does that mean...

Draco takes another deep breath, moving his hand to his chest as if feeling his lungs expand. When he speaks, it’s resolved. 

DRACO

It means what I said, I’m not sure I could leave you in Casablanca alone. 

HARRY

You would stay with me?

DRACO

I don’t know anymore Harry, yes? 

He sighs.

DRACO

I want to. 

There’s a pause, as Harry slowly peels back the layers of what has been said, as if removing a heavy cloak, slowly but surely. He looks away as he says the next part, but he has to ask, he has to.

HARRY

(quietly)

And your father?

Draco puts down his champagne, pulling off his ring. He passes it to Harry, who plays with it for a moment, before figuring out that the signet face conceals a hidden chamber. 

DRACO

He gave that to me, a Malfoy family heirloom. He was a troubled man, but I think he loved me, in his own way. He tried to convince me that we could bring the Dark Lord back with a potion, something about blood of the servant and bone of the father. He had me convince one of my friends to follow me to where he was waiting… 

Draco’s lips twist, and Harry is there, putting a hand on his thigh, slipping the ring back onto his finger, brushing back his blond fringe. 

DRACO

He’ll be locked away for the rest of his life, for inciting violence, for attempted murder, for many things. My mother was heartbroken, I’ll never forgive him for that. 

Harry leans down, kissing his forehead. 

HARRY

I’m sorry, Draco, I had no idea.

Draco laughs, it comes out a bitter mixture of harsh and sad. 

DRACO

Of course not, we said no questions, but I suppose that was never going to work with the two of us.

HARRY

I suppose not, and Draco—

He puts a hand under Draco’s chin, tilts it up so they’re looking into each other’s eyes. Draco doesn’t look away.

HARRY

I’m glad you told me.

Harry leans down, and kisses away the tears that have begun welling in Draco’s eyes. He kisses the lids, right, then left, and then trails kisses down Draco’s nose, to his lips. Draco mumbles sadly into the kiss, his tears salt on Harry’s tongue. 

DRACO

I wish I didn’t love you so much.

##### EXT. HARRY’S CAFÉ – NIGHT 

Viktor and Carl make their way through the darkness toward a side entrance of Harry’s. The headlights of a speeding Auror vehicle sweep towards them, and they flatten themselves against the wall. 

The lights move past them, driving out of sight. 

CARL

I think we lost them.

VIKTOR

Yes. I’m afraid they caught some of the others.

CARL

Come inside. Come.

##### INT. HARRY’S CAFÉ – MAIN ROOM – NIGHT 

Viktor and Carl enter and cross towards the bar, out of breath from their exertion.

CARL

Come inside. I will help you. Come in here.

VIKTOR

Thank you.

Carl goes behind the bar, filling up a glass. 

CARL

I will give you some water.

##### INT. HARRY’S APARTMENT – NIGHT 

The faint mumble of voices filters into Harry’s bedroom, and he perks up. Draco opens his mouth to talk, but Harry shakes his head, and they both get up, moving towards the door. Harry opens it just enough to see below, and turns off the bedroom lights. 

Draco stands behind him and moves as if to go out onto the balcony, but again, Harry stops him. He closes the door slowly, leaning against it. 

HARRY

I think it’s your husband.

DRACO

He… He knows I’m here.

HARRY

He does?

DRACO

I was going to come blackmail you to get the amulet.

HARRY

Well, that turned out brilliant for you, obviously.

DRACO

I’m sorry.

HARRY

It’s alright, I figured as much anyway. We just went down a slightly different path.

Draco smirks, and Harry finds comfort in the familiarity. 

HARRY

Do you… Should we go down together?

DRACO

Yes, yes I think that would be alright.

They walk out onto the balcony railing, shrouded in darkness, and watch for a moment, standing side by side. Viktor is drinking a glass of water, wincing, blood visible against his dress shirt. 

##### INT. HARRY’S CAFÉ – BALCONY/MAIN ROOM – NIGHT 

Harry and Draco walk down to them, and both Carl and Viktor look up, a dark shadow passing over Viktor’s face. 

HARRY

What happened?

CARL

The police broke up our meeting, we only barely got out.

Suddenly, a voice comes from behind them on the balcony.

BLAISE

Weren’t you all going to invite me to your little nighttime rendez-vous?

Blaise is standing there above them, in a long silk robe, smooth dark green folds falling at his calves, a bow tied carelessly at the waist. On his feet are slippers, and he walks softly towards them, glass of water in one hand. 

HARRY

All the commotion wake you? 

BLAISE 

You know I’m a light sleeper.

VIKTOR

I’m very sorry. 

Blaise just shrugs, taking a sip, and looks questioningly at Viktor’s injured arm. 

VIKTOR

It’s nothing. Just a little cut. Ve had to get through a vindow.

HARRY

Carl, why don’t you go home for the night?

Carl looks between them all and then nods. 

CARL

Of course, Monsieur Harry. Goodnight all.

Harry walks around the bar and pours Viktor a drink, Draco coming forward to look at the gash. He touches Viktor gently, and Harry feels jealousy prickle across his skin, but he has to stamp it down. 

HARRY

Well, this might come in handy.

VIKTOR

Thank you.

Draco waves his wand, muttering a healing spell, and Viktor winces as his skin begins to stitch together. 

DRACO

I’m going to need some dittany if we don’t want this to scar.

VIKTOR

It vouldn’t be the first—

BLAISE

We have some in the back room.

DRACO

Oh, perfect. I’ll come with you to find it.

HARRY

Do the two of you really—

BLAISE

Wonderful, don’t kill each other, you two.

And with that, Blaise and Draco disappear, as if in a conspiracy together, into the back room. 

HARRY

Have a rough night?

VIKTOR

Yes, rather.

He takes a drink, wincing as he moves his arm again. In the quiet of the bar, alone, Harry traces patterns on the countertop. It’s rather intimidating to be in Viktor’s presence. So heroic and all consuming. He captivates any room he walks into. Harry can be captivating in his own way, but he’s still envious. Remembers the times when he was nothing, shrank into floral wallpaper and cream coloured couches. 

HARRY

Don’t you sometimes wonder if it’s worth all this? I mean what are you fighting for?

VIKTOR

Ve might as vell question why ve breathe. If ve stop breathing, ve’ll die. If ve stop fighting our enemies, the vorld vill die.

HARRY

What of it? Then it’ll be out of its misery.

Harry reaches in his jacket for his cigarette case, opens it, and takes out a cigarette, puts it back. His magic is quiet, subdued after his outburst. This is just a conversation, and Harry is just a magical club owner. 

VIKTOR

You know how you sound, Monsieur Potter? Like a man who’s trying to convince himself of something he doesn’t believe in his heart. Each of us has a destiny, for good or for evil.

At the mention of destiny, Harry clenches his fist, maybe he will need that cigarette after all. 

HARRY

Yes, I get the point.

He fiddles with the case, watches Viktor take another sip of his drink. 

VIKTOR

I vonder if you do. I vonder if you know that you’re trying to escape from yourself and that you’ll never succeed.

HARRY

(through clenched teeth)

You seem to know all about my destiny.

VIKTOR

I know a good deal more about you than you suspect. I know, for instance, that you are in love with a man. It is perhaps strange that ve both should be in love with the same man. The first evening I came here in this café, I knew there vas something between you and Draco. Since no one is to blame, I, demand no explanation. I ask only one thing. You von’t give me the amulet. All right. But I vant my husband to be safe. I ask you as a favour to use the amulet to take him away from Casablanca.

Harry looks towards the back, but Draco and Blaise haven’t emerged, just the sound of them moving something around.

HARRY

You love him that much?

VIKTOR

Absolutely you think of me as only the leader of a cause. Vell, I am also a human being.

He looks away for a moment.

VIKTOR

Yes, I love him that much.

HARRY

But you know the amulet—

VIKTOR

I know the amulet is like acid to anyone it does not belong to, but you are the Chosen One, it won’t matter to you.

Harry breathes in sharply, and Viktor’s glass cracks down the middle. He looks at Harry out the corner of his eye, as if his suspicions have just been confirmed.

VIKTOR

Voldemort killed your parents, but he could not kill you. You are immune to certain types of magic, Draco has told me as much. And I know he came here tonight, to try and convince you to join the resistance. Evidently, the two of you did not get that far.

The movement that Harry thought was from the back room suddenly grows louder and more insistent. Before he can turn to look, there is a crash at the door of the café, followed by the forced entry of several Aurors. 

McLaggen comes to the forefront, and addresses Viktor with a disgusted sneer. 

MCLAGGEN

Mr. Krum?

VIKTOR

Yes?

MCLAGGEN

You will come with us. We have a warrant for your arrest.

VIKTOR

On what charge?

MCLAGGEN

Captain Vane will discuss that with you later.

HARRY

It seems that destiny has taken a hand.

Viktor looks for a moment at Harry, then in dignified silence crosses to McLaggen. He grabs Viktor’s arm, enjoying his power trip, and together they walk towards the door. Harry’s eyes follow them, but his expression reveals nothing of his feelings. 

Draco comes rushing out as they leave, holding a bottle of dittany, looking at Harry as if he’s just been slapped. Before Harry can speak, reach out, comfort, Draco is running out of the café and Apparating into the night.

Blaise walks up to the bar, sitting down across from Harry. It’s silent except for Blaise casting a Reparo on the glass, placing it down on the counter. The silence stretches, Harry not offering up any information, until Blaise gets up, and pads quietly up the stairs to bed. 

##### INT. VANE’S OFFICE – MORNING 

Vane sits at her desk and smokes while Harry nervously cards a hand through his hair. He notices the box of Cauldron Cakes on her desk, their orange and yellow wrapper calling out to him. He points, looking at Vane.

HARRY

Care to share?

She grins, sharp and cunning.

VANE

I wouldn’t if I were you.

Harry raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t ask, just runs his hand through his hair again, returning to their original point of conversation. 

HARRY

But you haven’t any actual proof, and you know it. This isn’t Germany or Occupied France. All you can do is fine him a few thousand bezants and give him thirty days. You might as well let him go now.

VANE

Harry, I’ll advise you not to be too interested in what happens to Krum. If by any chance you were to help him escape—

HARRY

—What makes you think I’d stick my neck out for Krum?

VANE

Because one, you’ve bet ten thousand bezants he’d escape. Two, you have the amulet, or at least the letters of transit. Don’t bother to deny it. And, well, you might do it simply because you don’t like Strasser’s looks. As a matter of fact, I don’t like him either.

HARRY

Well, they’re all excellent reasons.

VANE

Don’t count too much on my friendship, Harry. In this matter I’m powerless. Besides, Blaise might lose ten thousand bezants. My brother wouldn’t be very happy about that.

HARRY

You’re not very subtle, but you are effective. I… get the point. Yes, I have the amulet and letters, but I intend to use them myself. I’m leaving Casablanca with tonight’s Portkey, the last Portkey.

VANE

Really?

HARRY

And I’m taking a friend with me. One you’ll appreciate.

Vane sits forward at this, it seems no one in Casablanca can resist gossip these days. 

VANE

What friend?

HARRY

Draco Malfoy.

(pause)

That ought to put your mind to rest about my helping Krum escape. The last man I want to see in America.

VANE

You didn’t come here to tell me this. How do you plan to use the amulet? You could fill in the letters of transit and leave on a muggle plane, but you’d have to break your wands. And if you did do that, you could leave any time you please. Or, if there _were_ a way for you to hold the amulet, well, why are you interested in what happens to Krum?

Vane gets out of her chair and crosses to the front of her desk, blowing out a ring of smoke above Harry’s head. It’s as if she can somehow intimidate him into telling the truth. It makes Harry all the more inclined to get this conversation over with. 

HARRY

I’m not. But I am interested in what happens to Draco and me. We have a legal right to go, that’s true. But people have been held in Casablanca despite their legal rights.

VANE

What makes you think we want to hold you?

HARRY

Draco is Viktor’s husband. He probably knows things that Strasser would like to know. Romilda, I’ll make a deal with you. Instead of this petty charge you have against him, you can get something really big, something that would chuck him in a concentration camp for years. That would be quite a feather in your cap, wouldn’t it?

VANE

It certainly would. Germany… Vichy would be very grateful.

HARRY

Then release him. Be at my place in half an hour before the Portkey is set to leave.

Vane puts out her cigarette, looking at Harry shrewdly. Not for the first time Harry notices the badges that cluster on the front of her uniform, and wonders how she got up as high as she did. 

HARRY

I’ll arrange with Krum to come there to pick up the amulet and letters, and that’ll give you the criminal grounds on which to make the arrest. You get him, and we get away. To the Germans that last bit will be just a minor annoyance.

VANE

(quizzically)

There’s still something about this I don’t understand. You can’t hold the amulet, and Draco Malfoy. He’s very handsome, but you’ve never been interested in anybody before, man or woman.

HARRY

Well, he isn’t just any wizard. 

Vane looks at Harry for a long moment, as if she’s trying to read something, and then crosses her arms and sighs. 

VANE

How do I know you’ll keep your end of the bargain?

HARRY

I’ll make the arrangements right now with Krum in the visitor’s pen. 

VANE

Harry, I’m going to miss you. Apparently, you’re the only one in Casablanca who has even less scruples than I. 

HARRY

Well thank you.

VANE

Go ahead, Harry. 

She mutters, waving her wand, and the door to her office opens. Harry rises to go. 

HARRY

And by the way, call off your watchdogs when you let him go. I don’t want them around this afternoon. I’m taking no chances, Romilda, not even with you.

##### INT. THE GOLDEN NIFFLER – DAY 

A waiter brings tea to Harry and Burke, who sit alone at a table in a secluded nook off the main room. Plants with iridescent gold petals bloom all around them, giving off an eerie glowing light. 

BURKE

Shall we draw up the papers, or is a handshake good enough?

HARRY

I’m in a hurry, so it’ll have to do. 

Burke pours a cup for Harry, who takes a sip. It’s too weak, with too much sugar, but he tries to revel in the warmth. 

BURKE

Ah, to get out of Casablanca and go to America! You are a lucky man.

HARRY

Sure, now Abdul, Amelia, Carl, Corine, Emil, and Sacha, they stay with the place, or I don’t sell.

BURKE

Of course they stay. Harry’s wouldn’t be Harry’s without them.

HARRY

Good, then I think we’re done here.

BURKE

And Blaise?

HARRY

No. Blaise is coming with me. No question.

BURKE

Unfortunate, but understandable.

Harry gets up, followed by Burke. He snaps his fingers, and a waiter comes forward, holding a wand. 

HARRY

I’m surprised you agreed to this, to be quite honest.

BURKE

A deal’s a deal.

They clasp hands, and the waiter comes forward, placing the tip of their wand over the link. 

HARRY

Do you, Caractacus Burke the Second, swear to never profit off the buying and selling of refugees ever again?

Burke shudders, his jaw tightening.

BURKE

(begrudgingly)

I do.

A thin stream of fire emerges from the waiter’s wand, who looks on in wonder, as it wraps itself around Harry and Burke’s outstretched hands. 

HARRY

And will you, Burke, make sure that no such activities concerning the buying and selling of people happen at Harry’s Café, during the time that you own it?

BURKE

I will.

Another rope of fire emerges, and Burke hisses as it wraps itself around his hand, perhaps because he was thinking of breaking the vow, Harry isn’t sure. The two strands of fire intertwine, circling tighter and tighter, until they’re digging into both Harry and Burke’s wrists and hands, singeing their skin. 

HARRY

Then I hereby declare this vow sealed.

With those words, the red strands tighten once, abruptly, and disappear in a puff of smoke, leaving a faint pink imprint across Harry’s hand, and a painful, blistering strip across Burke’s. 

HARRY

(to waiter)

Fetch some burn-healer.

The young man nods and runs off, Burke clutching his hand limply. 

HARRY

Well, I’ll be off then. And remember, if you break this vow, you die.

BURKE

(hissing)

How could I forget.

##### EXT. HARRY’S CAFÉ – NIGHT 

A car pulls quickly to a stop just outside the café. On the door a huge placard reads:

CLOSED  
By order of the Bureau of Aurors

##### INT. HARRY’S CAFÉ – MAIN ROOM – NIGHT 

Harry sits at a table inside, reading the muggle letters of transit, the amulet sitting in a plain box in front of him, the same one that Ugarte pushed into his hands that night. Blaise sits next to him, just looking at the amulet. Occasionally, he looks at the watch on his wrist.

They hear a knock at the door and Harry folds the letters, shutting the lid of the amulet box and putting both in his pockets, which swallow them up magically, if not a bit greedily. 

He goes over and opens the door to Vane walking in. She nods at both of them. 

HARRY

You’re late.

VANE

I was informed just as Krum was about to leave the hotel, so I knew I’d be on time.

HARRY

I thought I asked you to tie up your watchdogs.

VANE

He won’t be followed here.

Vane looks around the empty café, scuffing the ground with her sturdy black boots.

VANE

You know, this place will never be the same without the both of you.

HARRY

I know what you mean, but I’ve already spoken to Burke. You’ll still win at roulette.

VANE

Is everything ready?

Harry pats his breast pocket. 

HARRY

I have the amulet and letters right here.

VANE

Tell me, when we searched the place, where were they?

BLAISE

My piano.

VANE

Serves me right for not being musical.

They hear the crunch of tires as another car pulls up. 

HARRY

Oh, here they are. You’d better wait in my office.

Vane walks up the stairs, pausing once on the balcony to look back, then heads into Harry’s office. 

Harry once again goes forward, opening the door. Draco rushes in, his intensity revealing the strain he’s under. Harry grabs him by both arms and pulls him close. 

DRACO

Harry, Viktor still thinks I’m leaving with him. Haven’t you told him I’m staying with you?

HARRY

No, not yet.

DRACO

But it’s all right, isn’t it? You were able to arrange everything?

HARRY

Everything is fine.

Draco eyes him suspiciously, backing out of his arms. 

HARRY

We’ll tell him at the airport. The less time to think, the easier for all of us. Please trust me.

Draco pauses and looks at Harry, unsure for a moment.

DRACO

Okay, I will.

Viktor comes in and closes the door behind himself.

VIKTOR

Monsieur Potter, I don’t know how to thank you.

HARRY

Save it. We’ve still lots of things to do.

They all walk towards the bar. Vane opens the office door and peers down at the proceedings, but only Blaise seems to take notice, an imperceptible shake of his head. 

VIKTOR

I brought the money. 

HARRY

Keep it. You’ll need it in America.

VIKTOR

But ve made a deal. 

HARRY

(cutting him short)

Oh, never mind about that. You won’t have any trouble in Lisbon, will you? 

VIKTOR

No. It’s all arranged.

HARRY

Good. I’ve got the letters right here, all made out in blank. And the amulet. 

He takes out the letters first.

HARRY

All you have to do is fill in the signatures.

He hands them to Krum, who takes them gratefully. At that moment, Vane bursts from Harry’s office. All four turn to see Vane walking towards them from the bottom stairs. 

VANE

Viktor Krum, you are under arrest…

(as she walks towards them)

On a charge of accessory to the murder of the couriers from whom those letters were stolen.

Draco and Viktor are both caught completely off guard, Draco pulling out his wand, eyes stone. Blaise remains impassive, watching everything transpire with a blank face, occasionally checking his watch. 

Vane comes forward, taking the letters.

VANE

Oh, are you surprised about my friend Harry?

Obviously the situation delights Vane. She smiles as she turns towards Harry.

VANE

The explanation is quite simple. Love, it seems, has triumphed over virtue. Thank—

Suddenly, her smile fades, she pauses mid-sentence. In Harry’s hand is his wand, which he points at Vane. 

HARRY

—Not so fast, Romilda. Nobody’s going to be arrested. Not for a while yet. 

VANE

Have you taken leave of your senses? 

HARRY

I have. Sit down over there.

VANE

Put your wand down. 

Vane begins walking towards Harry, reaching for her own wand. Harry puts out his arm to stop her. 

HARRY

Romilda, I wouldn’t like to curse you, but I will, if you take one more step. 

She halts for a moment, studying Harry, and then grabs for her own wand. Harry is faster, and more powerful. 

HARRY

Expelliarmus! 

Vane’s wand goes flying, and she stops, stunned. 

VANE

Under the circumstances, I suppose I will sit down.

She walks over to a table and sits, pouting. 

HARRY

(sharply)

Keep your hands on the table. 

Vane rolls her eyes, taking out a cigarette case. 

VANE 

I suppose you know what you’re doing, but I wonder if you realize what this means?

HARRY

I do. We’ve got plenty of time to discuss that later.

VANE

Call off your watchdogs you said. 

HARRY

Just the same, you call the airport’s Portkey wing and let me hear you tell them. And remember, this wand is pointed right at your heart.

VANE

That is my least vulnerable spot.

As Vane walks over, picking up the phone from the case, and dials, Harry takes back the letters.

VANE

(into phone)

Hello, is this the airport’s Portkey division? This is Captain Vane speaking. 

She looks at Harry inquisitively, as if she’s not sure what to say, and he pats his pocket again. She shakes her head.

VANE 

There’ll be an amulet for the Lisbon Portkey. There’s to be no trouble about them. Yes, thank you. Good. 

She hangs up the phone, glaring at Harry.

VANE

I still do not understand how they plan on holding the amulet. 

Harry doesn't respond, because really, that’s none of her concern.

##### INT. GERMAN CONSULATE – NIGHT

Strasser is on the phone, his face tight and anxious. 

STRASSER 

Hello? Hello? 

He hangs up the receiver and then picks up again, dialing. 

STRASSER 

This is Major Strasser. Have a squad of Aurors sent to the airport and head to the Portkey wing at once. At once! Do you hear? 

He hangs up the receiver, and grabbing for his cap, hurries out of his office. For the first time, he regrets taking a specialized Portkey directly to Captain Vane’s office, because he’ll splinch himself if he tries to Apparate to the airport now.

##### EXT. AIRPORT – NIGHT 

The entire airport is surrounded by a heavy fog. The outline of the muggle transport plane is barely visible. 

##### INT. PORTKEY WING – NIGHT 

A uniformed orderly stands in front of a large wall, with various locations and clocks ticking and flashing. Beneath each destination is the golden outline of a square. The orderly walks over to a specific part of the wall and waves a wand, _Lisbon, 15 minutes._ From the square beneath, a tarnished metal card begins to protrude from the wall. The orderly waves again, and the card peels off, floating into his hand. He does so again, and collects the second card. A counter in the center of the square goes down. _One key remaining._

Each Portkey can be split into multiple tickets, each with their own designated timers of departure, but like a muggle airplane, there is limited seating. _One key remaining_. No more, no less. 

There’s a distant popping sound, as Harry, Blaise, and Vane land in the Apparition point just outside the hangar. Harry is clutching Vane’s arm, his wand jammed into her back. Blaise is watching her closely. 

Draco and Viktor appear in turn, each holding a singular small suitcase with a number of dials on the front. 

The orderly stands at attention and holds out the two metal cards to Vane.

ORDERLY

Two Portkeys to Lisbon, as you requested, ma’am.

VANE

Thank you, I—

BLAISE

I’ll take those.

The orderly hands them off, a confused look passing across his face, as Blaise pulls out his wand, examining the two cards. 

Harry takes the letters of transit out of his pocket, and hands them to Vane.

HARRY

If you don’t mind, you fill in the names. That will make it even more official.

VANE

You think of everything, don’t you?

But she moves towards a small table to fill them in. 

HARRY

(quietly)

And the names are Mr. Draco Malfoy and Mr. Viktor Krum.

Vane stops dead in her tracks and turns around. Both Draco and Viktor wear similar looks of shock. 

DRACO

But why my name, Harry?

HARRY

Because you’re going to use that Portkey.

DRACO

(confused)

I don’t understand. What about you?

HARRY

I’m staying here with her until those Portkeys have you safely whisked away.

Harry’s intention suddenly dawns on Draco, and his hand on the suitcase handle turns white. 

DRACO

No, Harry, no. What’s happened to you? Last night we said—

HARRY

—Last night we said a great many things. You said you trusted me. Well, I’ve done a lot of thinking since then and it all adds up to one thing. You’re taking that Portkey with Viktor, where you belong.

DRACO

(protesting)

But Harry, no, I—

HARRY

—You’ve got to listen to me. Do you have any idea what you look forward to if you stayed here? Nine chances out of ten we’d both wind up in a concentration camp. Isn’t that true, Romilda?

Vane countersigns the papers, standing up and leaning on the table, watching Harry and Draco. She’s never been great at wandless magic, even without Harry’s wand pointed into her back, there’s nothing she can do. 

VANE

I’m afraid Major Strasser would insist.

DRACO

You’re saying this only to make me go.

HARRY

I’m saying it because it’s true. Inside we both know you belong with Viktor. You’re part of his work, the thing that keeps him going. If that Portkey leaves and you’re not holding it, you’ll regret it.

Viktor sucks in a breath at this, but he doesn’t say anything. Of all people, he understands what it’s like to be lonely, understands Draco. 

DRACO

No.

HARRY

Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but soon, and for the rest of your life.

DRACO

But what about us?

HARRY

We’ll always have Paris. We didn’t have, we’d lost it, until you came to Casablanca. We got it back last night.

DRACO

And I said I would never leave you.

HARRY

And you never will. But you’ve helped me realize that I have a job to do, too. To realize that the lives of three little people doesn’t amount to anything when we’re living through this.

Draco’s eyes well up with tears, and Harry has to work to keep his own feelings down, electric tears threatening to spark over his cheeks. 

Viktor acts as if he’s about to reach out to Draco, and then thinks better of it. 

##### EXT. AIRPORT – NIGHT 

Major Strasser Apparates into the fog with a loud crack of red light, pushing through the front doors and the Muggle workers. 

##### INT. PORTKEY WING – NIGHT 

Vane finishes with the letters, handing them to Harry, who pulls out the amulet. 

HARRY

One of you has to be holding this in order to use those Portkeys.

VIKTOR

I will.

HARRY

It’ll burn through your hand, I will pass it to you at the last second.

DRACO

No, Harry, let me take it.

VIKTOR

Draco, ve already—

DRACO

No, this makes the most sense. I can do all my potion making with just my wand.

Blaise is leaning on the table with Vane, watching everything unfold. She nods, pleased, as if she’s finally learned something she’s been aching to know. Blaise smirks at her disdainfully. 

BLAISE

That’s the problem with you lot, you underestimate the stakes those suffering will go through to be free.

VANE

Including suffering the curse of such an amulet.

BLAISE

Yes, even someone as vain as Draco is willing to sacrifice himself.

VANE

Impressive, really.

Blaise looks over where both Harry and Viktor are trying to convince Draco that he shouldn’t be the one to lose his hand to the curse. It’s as if the notes are falling into place, the composition coming together to form the unified whole. Harry had defeated the Dark Lord once, repelled his dark magic back to whence it came. 

BLAISE

(slowly)

Yes, it really is.

He looks at his watch, then up at the wall of Portkeys. There’s only about three minutes before their Portkeys will leave. Harry once asked why he insisted on wearing the muggle thing. It’s classier than a Tempus, more refined, and it reminds him that the world is always moving forward, the hands on his wrist always ticking, whether he were magic or not. 

He walks over to the orderly, says something. 

At the same time, Strasser runs into the room, hurrying towards Vane.

STRASSER

What was the meaning of that phone call?

He notices Viktor and Draco standing beyond the shimmery veil of the Portkey usage point. 

STRASSER

We must stop them!

Harry quickly moves in front of him, wand brandished. Strasser looks at him, then at Vane, and makes a step towards the telephone just inside the hangar door.

HARRY

Get away from that phone.

Strasser stops in his tracks, looks again at Harry’s wand. 

STRASSER

(steely)

I would advise you not to interfere.

HARRY

I was willing to Stun Captain Vane, and I’m willing to Stun you.

Strasser watches the shimmering Portkey point with agony. He has two minutes to stop them. His eyes dart towards the telephone. He runs towards it and desperately grabs the receiver.

STRASSER

Hello?

HARRY

Put that phone down!

STRASSER

Get me the radio tower.

In one swift movement, it all happens. Blaise pulls out his wand, dark black, the handle curled like a serpent, and points it at Strasser. A jet of green light bursts forth, hitting Strasser in the chest, and the life drains from his eyes. He crumples to the ground. 

Blaise rushes forward, shoving a metal card into Harry’s hand and pushing him towards the Portkey point. 

BLAISE

This is the last ticket Harry, you need to go.

HARRY

You killed him?

BLAISE 

It was the only way you were going to get out.

HARRY

No, I can’t. What about you?

There’s one minute, and if someone with an amulet isn’t inside the veil, then no one will be leaving Casablanca. Harry pulls it out of his pocket, wraps his fingers around the blue stone. It’s a pleasant weight, the silver cool against his palm. 

DRACO

You can hold the amulet?

BLAISE

Harry, you’re strong, stronger than me, stronger than maybe even you know.

HARRY

I can’t—

Blaise puts his hands on Harry’s shoulder, he’s just a bit taller, and he turns Harry so they’re face to face. 

HARRY

Blaise, I can’t live without you.

Blaise touches Harry’s cheek, just one finger pressing lightly on Harry’s cheekbone, a warmth that Harry can ground himself in.

BLAISE

I’ll find you, I always do.

VIKTOR

Harry, ve have to go now!

DRACO

Harry—

HARRY

I’m coming.

Harry covers Blaise’s hand, and for one quick moment, he leans into the touch. Blaise feels Harry’s wistful smile on his palm, and then he walks through the veil, clutching the amulet and card to his chest. This time, the electric tears spill down his cheeks, crackling with the magic of the veil. He tears his eyes away from Blaise, looks at Draco. He sobs, a broken sound from deep in his chest, and then they’re turning, bodies squeezing and expanding and swirling, into thin air. 

Blaise stands there, looking at the place where his best friend had been. In the distance, there’s the sound of Apparition, and McLaggen and the other Aurors run into the hangar. He salutes Vane, and looks worriedly at Strasser’s dead body. 

She looks at Blaise, expressionless.

VANE

Round up the usual suspects.

MCLAGGEN

Of course, Captain.

He levitates Strasser’s body out of the hangar, hurrying away. Vane walks up to Blaise. 

VANE

Of all the people, you didn’t strike me as a sentimentalist, let alone a patriot.

BLAISE

Harry was rubbing off on me, and this seemed like a good time to start.

VANE

I think perhaps you’re right.

Blaise shudders, as if he’s only barely holding all his broken pieces together, and then lets out a long sigh, turning away. 

BLAISE

At least now he can’t collect his bet.

VANE

You can use the money to bribe the orderly.

Blaise smiles, and it’s sad, but it’s a start. 

BLAISE

We’re wizards, Vane, we can obliviate him.

Blaise casts the spell as they leave the hangar. The fog has lessened, and the light of the airport swings over them, making everything shimmer. 

VANE

It might be a good idea for you to disappear from Casablanca for a while. There’s a Free French garrison over at Brazzaville. I could be induced to arrange a passage.

BLAISE

My letter of transit? I could use a trip.

VANE

You can use the bezants you saved for our expenses.

BLAISE

Our expenses?

VANE

Uh huh.

Blaise laughs, a stark sound in the night air. It’s a cracked but beautiful thing.

BLAISE

Captain, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

The two walk off into the night, what’s left of the fog swallowing them. “Go mon chéri,” the fog says, “and do not look back.”


	3. EPILOGUE

##### VIKTOR

Despite people’s desire to confine him to a stereotype, Viktor was many things. He enjoyed the taste of champagne, was loyal to those he deemed family, and enjoyed working with his hands.

At Durmstrang, he often found himself curled up by the fire of his common room, using the pocket knife his father had given him to whittle away at a piece of wood. The figures he made were ugly little things, crude faces and mocking animals, but he loved them all the same.

He had always been good at loving things.

The feeling you get when you’re awake before anyone else, the capability of the human body when you jogged through the streets at dawn, blood pumping and ethereal. The scruffy black dog he had adopted out of school, who followed him to his jobs as a Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. He had educated with a mixture of theory and practice; sometimes they duelled with magic, sometimes they brought it down to fists, Viktor pulling on his sweats to teach his students mixed martial arts. And on the sidelines of his classes, that dog, who he never felt was his right to name, but who he thought of fondly nonetheless. He fed it parts of his lunch, cleaned its fur with spells, and made sure it was loved until it limped into his classroom with greying fur, and was unable to limp out.

This was why when Draco Malfoy came into his life, he was able to love him endlessly and without question. He had practice in loving, and Draco was the best thing he had ever loved, ever had the chance to love. He loved the delicate way Draco held things, his fingers long and lithe, and he loved the sparkle in his eyes whenever he figured out a particularly challenging puzzle. He loved Draco’s dorky yet aristocratic laugh, and he loved how meticulous he was about absolutely everything.

And it was because of this that Viktor knew when he had to let him go.

Harry loved Draco like a man who had never loved anything else, with a fierce intensity, a passion so strong even Viktor could feel it. And Draco loved Harry like a drowning man, someone who had finally found what he was looking for, after years upon years of searching. Viktor had always known, in a way, that he wasn’t enough for Draco. That he was too reserved, too subtle, too still. Harry was exactly what Draco seemed to need. Friction that he could rub against, create sparks and energy and life, and a weight he could throw himself against, feel safe and calm and defined. Viktor was some of that, but not quite right. When he went to the underground meetings, and Draco’s eyes were worried and tense, he didn’t know how to sweep him into his arms and comfort him. When Draco turned to him in bed at night and whispered about being scared for him, for them, he could speak softly back about how it would be okay, how the world needed them, how they had to do this, but it never seemed to come out properly, never came out in a way that Draco needed.

Harry got Draco to open up about things, pushing button after button, and at night when Draco whispered to him, Harry pulled him into his arms and mumbled into his hair. Under the cover of sleep and darkness, Harry did the exact right thing, always.

Viktor was the wrong thing at the right time, Harry was the right thing at the wrong time, and Viktor was okay with that. He had died five times and survived every one, he could live through a broken heart.

And it wasn’t quite broken anyway. He still made Draco laugh when he went round for tea, he still clapped Harry on the back after friendly quidditch matches, and when Blaise showed up after the war, when Viktor, Harry, and Draco had emerged from the underground, Viktor listened to Blaise’s fingers dance across the keys and thought maybe he had a chance at being whole again.

-x-

##### BLAISE

When Blaise had been younger, he had kept a pet corn snake in a terrarium. His mother brought little decorations back from her work trips, ran a hand over his head, and told him the snake was going to die soon, that it was just the way things went.

The first time Blaise found the discarded skin in the terrarium, he had trembled, thinking that this was the end. When he realized it was natural, that his pet was still alive, he had almost cried. Balling up his little fists and pushing them into his eyes, he had taken deep breaths. Zabinis didn’t cry, that was what his mother said.

He didn’t cry when Harry left him. Not when he was lying in bed at dusk, staring up at the ceiling, missing those nights at the café when he would do the same thing, but with the knowledge that Harry was right there in the room next to him, safe. Not when he sat at breakfast the next morning, watching Romilda eat a plate of eggs, and found he could only stomach a coffee. And certainly not when he played piano again for the first time, in the lobby of their hotel, tracing the keys like the ghost of a memory.

He didn’t know where Harry was, didn’t know if he was dead or alive. He spent every moment he could getting scraps of news from travellers and illegal publications.

He took up playing for a jazz club, where he was never asked to play someone’s song, or their song, or our song, just his song, whatever song he wanted. Sometimes his voice wouldn’t work, throat clogged and scratchy, and other times he felt he couldn’t keep the words down, wouldn’t have been able to stop himself from singing if he tried.

He attended Corina’s funeral, played a melancholic farewell that rose out of the depths of him, a sleeping viper awoken, furious at the world. They said she died in a brewing accident, but Blaise knew Corina hated potions with a passion, that her heart lay with the plucky strings of a guitar, the transformative desires of music, that she liked Transfiguration for the same reasons, and that transfiguration accidents were few and far between.

He let Cho cry on his shoulder, large weepy tears, as she sobbed out that it hadn’t been an accident at all. Oh no, Corina had died like many of their friends, for being different, for being other, for being part Spanish wizard and part something muggle, for talking back one too many times to the Auroren that tried to pick her up in the street. But he didn’t cry with Cho, just let the sad tinge of her sobs seep into his body, let it out with his music, again and again.

Three years later, he saw Harry once more, reached out to make sure he wasn’t dreaming, and then. Then Blaise Zabini cried.

“Took you long enough to find me,” Harry said, a glint of humour in his familiar eyes.

Blaise blinked once, twice, and touched his own cheek. The pad of his finger came away wet, and he laughed shakily, “I told you, I always do.”

-x-

##### DRACO

Their second romance didn’t start right away. It took time, to work through the resistance, to find out what Harry’s place in the war was, to tuck him into the fold, keep him out of sight. Viktor and Draco didn’t have time to absolve their relationship, and Draco and Harry didn’t have time to start.

But after, when they finally rose from the underground, battered, bloodied, and bruised, Draco found himself hugging Viktor once, tight, and then finally, finally, collapsing into Harry’s arms.

Yet first, before any of that, he had felt his body collapse in on itself, a strange uncomfortable feeling, and then an operator’s voice ringing out through a grand hall.

“The last Portkeys from Casablanca have now arrived. The accompanying Portkeys to the London Heathrow, Manchester, and Los Angeles Airports will be leaving in half an hour.”

Viktor knew the drill, taking Draco’s hand and walking forward casually. Flashing the amulet which Harry held, chain wrapped tightly around his wrist, was enough to pass them through any gate. They were standing inside the veil to Los Angeles in a matter of minutes, silver-plated cards clutched tightly at their sides.

Draco stared down at his hand which Viktor was still holding, his strong grip, tenseness in every feature. When had they grown distant? How had they fallen in love in the first place? Draco sifted through the memory of their first meeting. They had been buying coffee at the same café, both holding the same newspaper, two conversation starters wrapped up in one impromptu date. Draco had been impressed by how wide Viktor’s worldview was, how he had given up professional Quidditch in favour of becoming a Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. He liked how intrigued Viktor was by French culture, and how he never asked questions about why Draco had moved to Bulgaria. He had seen an open call for potion masters in Sofia, and taken the next Portkey out of the Charles de Gaulle airport.

They would drink beers together on pub terraces and Viktor would talk about the oncoming war, what it meant for what country to do what, for which politician to say that one thing. Draco contributed to their conversations, but he also sometimes got lost in watching Viktor’s strong mouth, broad shoulders, and large hands.

Their relationship had started out friendly, moved on to something a little bit more, and then WWII had started, and Viktor joined the resistance.

First, it was just teaching people about Dark Magic, and how to defend yourself, then it was joining up with researchers and figuring out how to stop Dark Wizards. Then it was publishing in illegal newspapers, staying late at the underground offices writing articles, working the printing press.

Draco had joined the resistance in his own way. One night when Viktor came home, he had left a sample flier out on the kitchen table, about potions necessary for the war effort that could be brewed from home. Well, Draco had his mastery in potions. They lived above his apothecary, which had a brewery in the basement. He could make all of these easily, and efficiently. He had apprentices, had the tools. So Draco began smuggling potions to the Bulgarian resistance fighters, out to Allied soldiers.

The apothecary burned down, and they fled to unoccupied France.

It was a spring morning, flat sunlight streaming through their bedroom window, when Viktor went down on one knee. He was scared of losing Draco without taking the chance, he said, with the world seemingly turned upside down, he couldn’t wait any longer. Draco sat on the edge of the bed, a white sheet wrapped around his naked body, and said yes. It didn’t matter that it was an inexpensive ring, the stone crudely polished, it fit his finger perfectly, even before resizing charms. The way Viktor rested his head in Draco’s lap, humming in contentment as the sun sent magical halos over everything, told him this was all he would ever need.

He had been wrong, it turned out, as we so often are in the moment, when we don’t know what’s waiting for us.

The honeymoon phase dwindled out, as Viktor came home later, lived more dangerously, and sometimes didn’t come home at all.

Draco would yell and storm about, talking about communication and love, and Viktor would come back with “honour” and “necessity.” It made Draco feel like a piece of shit for getting mad in the first place. He needed Viktor to give him something to go off on, instead of this calmness that never seemed to leave, gaze always steady, as if Draco were just a petulant child.

And then Viktor was detained for the first time. Draco nearly chewed through his lip with worry, and broke down in Viktor’s arms when he came home.

It’s hard to fall out of love during the middle of a war, realizing that two people aren’t quite right for each other. What do you do? How do you move on? Draco felt like a bird tossed about in a windstorm, a constant pit of worry expanding in his chest. He still cared about Viktor, still wanted him safe.

He hated lying in bed at night, looking at the empty indent next to him. He hated sitting at the breakfast table with only one cup of coffee. He hated opening up the shop and not having anyone to kiss goodbye. He was lonely, and he couldn’t ask Viktor to put Draco first. That was selfish, and Draco didn’t want him to, regardless. It was the fact that Viktor didn’t even seem to understand.

The next morning, he sat down to read the paper, alone, again. Just a two-line item: _Viktor Krum apprehended. Taken to concentration camp._

It was two months later, when Draco woke up to an albino raven sitting at the foot of his bed, the light around it wavering, that everything fell apart.

The bird opened its beak, an unknown voice speaking into the silent room, “Viktor Krum is dead. Splinched escaping concentration camp in Bulgaria.”

Draco stared at the Patronus, its feathers somehow still looking dark and sleek despite their hauzy white hue. It took a moment before Draco even understood what he’d just heard.

“What was he doing back in Bulgaria?” He rasped out, the first thing he thought to ask.

Of course, the Raven didn’t reply, simply faded out with the rising sun, as any patronus would. Draco sat in bed for a long time, and when he finally got up, it was as if he’d seen a ghost. And in a way, he had.

He breathed in the grief like an anchor, and didn’t open the shop that day. He drank his coffee at the kitchen table, alone, and it carried new weight. He’d been alone before, but now it was everywhere, that his other half was gone, that the partner ring to his own could be six-feet underground. Or worse.

It was when the grief had settled around him, and it had gotten almost comfortable, that he met him. Draco noticed a pair of stark green eyes through a crowd. His breath caught with the intensity of that gaze, and then people were moving around him, and he was crossing the street, walking away.

Later that evening, at a friend’s party which he’d been dragged to, he saw him again. Was it fate? Destiny? Draco wasn’t sure he believed in those things, but whatever it was, he welcomed the feelings into his grey world. He pushed off from his spot on the windowsill, nodded at acquaintances as he walked through the room, and straight over to those green eyes. He wanted to know everything about them, he wanted to explore every bone and bend of that body, he wanted to hear every syllable and word on that tongue, he wanted to remember what it was like to be curious. He wanted to speak a new name.

Harry.

How do you love another, after death? But especially in a situation such as this, the death of someone who you’d fallen out of love with, but who you are mourning as a widow. How do you love another, at all? Draco didn’t know, he couldn’t remember, but Harry made him want to try.

Harry was electricity and a bit of a moron, but he was also obstinate and passionate. His heroism was more subtle than Viktor’s. He didn’t push it onto Draco, but he let it be known. He liked to help people, he liked to care. He helped Draco, clasped his hand, and pulled him out of grief.

Just like that, he’d fallen in love again, and it was wonderful. Waking up with Harry, he could picture doing it every day. Falling asleep next to him felt like... well he didn’t know what it felt like, just that he wanted to keep feeling it forever.

Their love was fast and fiery, and that’s exactly how Draco liked it. He’d spent so long running, just like Harry had. France, to Bulgaria, to France again, and he was tired. He wanted to run headfirst into fire, and that fire was Harry James Potter. Yes, they fought, but they always made up, and somewhere deep down he felt this was it. He still loved Viktor, in a way, but this was the man he’d been waiting for.

Except, that’s not really how it went, was it?

Harry was on the terrace, watching cars pass by. He wasn’t smoking, just... Watching. Draco smiled fondly, about to pull the covers back, wrap his arms around Harry’s waist and pull him back to bed, when a glowing white heron flew through the adjacent wall and landed at his feet. He felt his entire heart drop as he heard a familiar voice, one that had only existed in dreams and memory, come out of the heron.

“I am alive, hidden on the outskirts of Paris. Donelli will pick you up at the National Library, ten o’clock tomorrow morning,” the heron paused with its long beak still open, and then, “I love you.”

Right before Harry came back into the room, the heron dispersed in a whisp of silver.

-x-

##### HARRY

Harry Potter was a force to be reckoned with, although he didn’t want you to think so. He liked movement, the fluidity of cooking, music, and magic. He liked the way Draco moved through the world, sharp, like he owned it, but how when they were alone, he transformed. Body paralleling Harry’s, moving through the world like it wasn’t his, but theirs.

Violin and cello tickled Harry’s cheek on a warm breeze, and he took Draco’s hand in his own, leading him out onto the grass. The backyard had been adorned with fairy lights for their friend’s wedding, and when they danced, it was guiltfree.

No questions were off-limits, no story unknown as their relationship unfurled, waiting to be lived out.

Then Blaise was there, and Harry smiled, because there was a time when he hadn’t been. He extended a hand to Draco.

“Mind if I have this dance?”

“If you must,” Draco smirked back.

Harry let him go with a kiss to the cheek.

The two men contrasted each other in beautiful ways, and Harry enjoyed seeing his two best friends get along again. He said it out loud, _two_. He wasn’t used to two. He let it roll off his tongue, a promise to himself, that he wouldn’t run away again. Two people who knew his heart, who held the fragile thing in their hands. Blaise was one, had always been the one, and he had thought that was how it would be. Forever.

He hadn’t accounted for snakes that hid in the tall grass, black diamond cases around their hearts.

Harry walked over to the punch table, grabbing a cupcake. Okay, two cupcakes. He didn’t need spiked punch. The glowing ring around his finger kept his magic in check—that magical rage that liked to caterwaul through his veins, screaming and crying, the feeling that told him to burn it all down—but now he had things he couldn’t burn, alive, real, things.

Viktor stood off to the side, smoking a cigarette. That was something Harry had a harder time giving up. He echoed Blaise as he walked up to him.

“Mind if I join you?”

Viktor glanced at him, shrugged, and went back to watching the dancers, “not at all.”

The glow of Viktor’s cigarette stood out like one of the bright little fairies that flitted around the garden.

Viktor was a good man, a quiet man. Harry had always admired him. Casablanca hadn’t changed that; America hadn’t changed that. Viktor was really the only reason all four of them had come out of the war alive. Harry took out a lighter; tried to make the flame jump out with the scratchy turning of metal, but ended up wincing instead, hissing.

“Your hand?” Viktor asked, inclined his head.

Harry nodded.

The pain had started ten minutes before their Portkey to Los Angeles. He had been reeling from the shock of leaving Blaise, the last-minute shove into the Portkey, and it had finally caught up with him. His head had felt thick with fog, his arms dead weights at his side. The energy that had been crackling and sparking through his veins was dwindling, and his palm was beginning to tingle.

He had fought through the haze of pain that clouded his mind; had lifted his left hand and looked at the amulet. His magic, which had previously curled around it like a protective shield, had begun to dull, before it had slowly faded away to a wisp. Harry had gritted his teeth, and felt the amulet begin to heat up. His magic had coalesced at his hand, attempting to stave off the curse that had threatened to eat his flesh, but it hadn’t been of any use.

He had stared ahead, kept his hand at his side, face impassive, but he had bitten down on his cheek so hard it had bled. A tendril of smoke had begun to rise from his hand, and Draco had nudged Viktor, panicked. Harry looked on stoically, and the airport moved around them, paying them no mind.

Their bodies had been twisted and pulled, manipulated and deformed, and then they had stumbled out of another veil, the amulet crackling as they walked through. Harry felt one last tug on the magic inside him.

He hadn’t been able to drop it at first. The curse had clung to his burned flesh, the gaping hole growing in his palm, until with one last burst of rogue magic, his entire body seemed to crackle with blue light. The amulet dropped to the ground, nothing more than a melted mass of rock.

Draco had acted quickly, had tried to save his wrist, but Harry’s hand hadn’t been salvageable.

Finding a prosthetic hadn’t been urgent, he was right-handed, but after the war had settled, Harry had looked at his left wrist and decided it was finally time. He had found a nice physical therapist witch and had worked on attaching a prosthetic made of citrine: a glassy yellow quartz, streaked through with veins of gold and orange.

Draco had been there, always. Draco had helped him with the spell that wove the prosthetic on and off;had helped him attach it permanently after his medi-witch decided it was time.

There were still times, like just now, when he couldn’t move it quite right, but he liked the way the citrine looked like crystalized sunshine; liked how it reminded him that he still had a life to live.

Yet you could only heal so much. He still had the ragged scars trailing up his left arm, the ghost of pain that lived on. Draco liked to kiss those scars, liked to kiss all Harry’s scars, until he felt maybe they weren’t so bad after all, a different kind of sunshine under his skin.

Viktor has his fair share of scars. Harry watched the glowing embers of Viktor’s cigarette, and catalogued all the ones he could see. He had a jagged line running through his right eyebrow, another over his lips, and a multitude of nearly imperceptible hatches across the back of his hands.

Harry wanted to tell Viktor that he was sorry, in a way, for ruining everything. That he was sorry about how he treated him at times in Casablanca, the pain he caused everyone. Sometimes the guilt was so palpable that he wanted to vomit. He had hoped to outrun the trail of death that he caused, his mother, father, godfather, classmates, friends, but it had caught up to him in Casablanca. Of course it had.

In Casablanca: Ugarte, Corina, Strasser, and countless nameless refugees.

And after that: Donneli, Neville, Hannah, Padma, Louis, Sophia, Mark, soldiers, refugees. It wasn’t right to call them nameless, he thought, they had names, it was just that no one had cared to take them down. They were people lost to history, the ghosts you saw on the outskirts of your vision.

“You two look happy,” Viktor said suddenly, breaking Harry out of his spiral of thoughts.

“Oh, er, thank you. We are.”

“I’m glad, really,” Viktor hurried, as if worried Harry would assume differently. Even though he felt strangely like Viktor had never once been mad about it.

“And you?” Harry asked.

“Vat?”

“Are you happy?”

Viktor looked up, where the moon and stars were bright and visible, then looked at Harry, gave a small smile.

“I’m starting to be,” he finally said.

And wasn’t that the way of it? The war had chewed them up and spit them out. Blaise’s grief was a snowfall, clinging and cloying, barely cold, flakes that stick together in the sky but sting your bare skin. Draco’s grief was slick and steady like grime, a wave of dark, guttural anger. Viktor breathed in the empty paper bag, scorched stone weight of it, so reluctant to let his grief go.

Harry’s grief smelled like black coffee. Dangerously close to poison, he would be kept awake for days by the raging smell of it, clinging to the familiarity of pouring water over the grounds, listening to the steady drip, smells wafting up, because at least it was familiar.

But watching Blaise and Draco dance together, he reminded himself: two. Looking at Viktor, he thought: three

They were all trying to be happy. Viktor might never find anyone else, and Blaise might never find the right one, but Harry could see no one but Draco, and out on the grass, Draco’s eyes drifted back over.

Harry lifted his hand, a tiny wave.

“Mon chéri,” Draco’s face said. “I’m so glad you looked over here.”

And Harry felt, not for the first time, that he was so thankful Paris hadn’t been the last time. That in a way, he had looked back for Draco, and found him there, washed up on a beach of memories.

His cigarette was beginning to burn down, and with the last few pulls of his lungs, he counted.

He breathed in, thought, Viktor. The smoke he breathed out was stardust, a hero deserving of happiness.

He breathed in, thought, Blaise. The smoke he breathed out was music, the ache of never wanting to be separated again.

On three, he vanished his cigarette, let fresh air fill his lungs, Draco. When he breathed out, he felt the future, lemon bright, a sweetness against his tongue.

On four, he went back to the center of the garden, stole Draco from Blaise, and thought, Harry. When he breathed out, he let it tickle the bare curve of Draco’s neck. He wasn't going to run away this time.

**Author's Note:**

> ***
> 
> This work is part of "Lights, Camera, Drarry" (LCDrarry), a film-, TV- and theatre-inspired Drarry fest.  
>  The creators will be revealed on [tumblr](http://lcdrarry.tumblr.com) and [AO3](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/LCDrarry2020/works) on 15 June 2020.
> 
> Please show your appreciation to the creator with kudos and comments :) Thank you!


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